


Finding Mr. Right

by hollybibble



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reality Show, Anxiety Attacks, Art appreciation, Coming Out, Embarrassment, Humor, M/M, Reality Dating Show, Romantic Comedy, moderate angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-25 09:22:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22493767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollybibble/pseuds/hollybibble
Summary: What if instead of blowing up his old life to move to Schitt's Creek, Patrick had signed up to be on the reality dating showMr. Right? And what if David was that season's Mr. Right? What if Stevie was the cynical but soft producer and Ronnie the grouchy director, and all your favorite minor character hotties were living in the suitors' mansion? Surely there would be romance and humor and deception and longing and tenderness!
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 166
Kudos: 259





	1. A Terrible Mistake

**Author's Note:**

> I have a draft complete, so I'll post the chapters every few days as I get them polished.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After yet another fight with Rachel, Patrick stumbles into an audition to be a suitor on the dating show Mr. Right. It seems as good a way as any to get unstuck from his life and come out to his family. Unfortunately, his first meeting with Mr. Right himself, David Rose, does not go as planned.

Patrick couldn’t get out of the limo.

Now that the moment was finally here, now that his life was about to change, his arms and legs had turned to stone. There was no going back from this. He was about to go on the most popular dating show in America and declare to the world that he was looking for a boyfriend.

He was either going to completely humiliate himself, or maybe finally figure out that gaping hole in his heart that no one, no woman that is, had ever been able to fill. His heart raced with nerves and excitement as he straightened his tie, until he was interrupted by a swift kick to the ankle.

Stevie, one of the assistant producers, was lying on the limo floor, out of the camera sightline. “Keep it moving, Brewer,” she hissed. “Time to get the hell out of here and meet Mr. Right.”

Patrick took a last sip of champagne and opened the door.

***

Patrick had heard of _Mr. Right_ , of course. Rachel and her girlfriends all watched it together every week, drinking rosé and analyzing the contestants. For all their cattiness, though, they whole-heartedly believed in the premise of the show— that two people could fall in love over the course of a few weeks through progressively more over-the-top dates while cameras followed them around, and a bunch of other suitors tried to break them up. Patrick was banned from watching it with them because he made too many dumb jokes. “It’s like you don’t believe in romance,” Rachel sighed. If Patrick cared to think about it, there was probably more behind this than her annoyance at his jokes about how Hannah C., Hannah M., and Hanna should start a band.

So when he and Rachel had that same fight, where he said again, “I can’t breathe here!” and she said again, “Why won’t you fight for me?”, and he drove aimlessly until he ended up at the mall, it made sense that he was drawn to the sign. “CASTING CALL FOR MR. RIGHT: Do you believe in true love? Are you a fun, romantic, single guy between 25-35, looking to meet the man of your dreams?”

The new Patrick was all of those things. The old Patrick was only between 25-35. The old Patrick could get lost.

Two women sat under the sign. The older woman, with light brown skin and cropped hair, gave him a disappointed once-over. It was the younger woman— about his age, with long, dark hair and heavy black eyeliner— who actually spoke to him. “You interested?” she asked.

Patrick nodded and stepped closer.

“I’m Stevie, one of the assistant producers. And this is Ronnie, the director. And you are...?” Stevie was sizing him up warily and impersonally, like she had done this hundreds of times.

“Patrick Brewer.”

“Well, Patrick, I’m going to take your picture, and you’re going to fill out this form.” She typed on her tablet as she spoke to him. 

“Wait, now,” said Ronnie. She sounded irritated, but Patrick was already sensing that she probably always sounded that way. Ronnie glared at him suspiciously. “Are you an actor?” 

“What? No.”

“A singer? One of those Instagram people?”

“Maybe an open mic night here and there? And no.” It was the truth, but Ronnie still made Patrick feel nervous, like he was lying to her.

Stevie gave Ronnie a little reproachful look and turned back to Patrick. “Why do you want to be on _Mr. Right_?” Stevie asked.

“I want to fall in love.” After Patrick said it, he realized it was true. 

Stevie finally met his eyes. She sighed. “You really do, don’t you.” It wasn’t a question. “Turn around for me. Okay, I can see it. You look like everyone’s high school crush’s younger brother.”

Ronnie snorted, but Patrick thought maybe that sounded like a good thing.

“I’m not really supposed to tell you this, but a few of our guys failed the psych evaluation, and we need to fill out the suitor pool in a hurry,” said Stevie. “I can fast-track you through the other screenings and the medical tests, if you’re really serious about this.”

“Tell us now if you have herpes because they WILL test you, and we WILL find out, and I don’t like to waste my time,” said Ronnie.

Patrick shook his head. “No. No herpes.”

Stevie gave him another hard look. “Okay, Mr. Boy-next-door. This is all going to happen very, very fast. You are going to need to quit your job and come to Los Angeles for 10 weeks, where you will be completely cut off from your friends and family. And most people find that their lives are changed forever by being on the show— they can’t go back and pick up where they left off when it’s over. So are you ready to blow up your life to meet Mr. Right?”

“Absolutely,” said Patrick.

The next few weeks passed quickly. Patrick told Rachel that he needed a break and stayed with his parents. He’d pulled the same move before but had always come back, so she didn’t push too hard. He Facetimed with Stevie a few times from his childhood bedroom, hoping his parents didn’t think he was having an affair with a new woman. He drove to Toronto one weekend to meet with the show’s psychologist and get some blood drawn. Everything was moving forward like it was meant to be. Patrick wasn’t surprised at all when Stevie called him to say, “You’re in. Sign the contract ASAP. And I’m sending you a plane ticket to be in LA on Sunday.”

“Okay,” said Patrick.

“Is that all you’re going to say?” said Stevie with exasperation. “Don’t you want to know who the guy is?”

Patrick paused. He was so far in— it almost didn’t matter at this point. 

Stevie took his silence for agreement. “It’s David Rose. The Rose Video heir. He’s rich and handsome and smart. I mean, I always say that, but he’s a pretty good one.”

Patrick made a strange sound between a laugh and a cough. David Rose. Even he knew who David Rose was. When he was in high school, he worked as a clerk at his local Rose Video. He remembered the company holiday card from their boss that got pinned to the break room bulletin board every year: the entire Rose family posed in front of their grand staircase or towering Christmas tree. Dapper and confident Johnny Rose, majestically glamorous Moira, pretty Alexis, and...David. Reserved, elegant David Rose, who always caught Patrick’s eye the dozen times a day he might pass by the bulletin board. Never quite smiling, holding his body with simultaneous grace and discomfort. Patrick hadn’t thought about David Rose in years, but there he was again, the picture in his mind as fresh as when he was 18 years old and wondering how the guy on the card, not much older than him, knew how to dress like that, and fix his hair like that, and probably knew how to do a lot of other things as well.

Suddenly, the insanity of his plan hit him. What was he thinking? He was going to leave his life and his job and his family and Rachel, to burn bridges and destroy his old life, just to meet a hypothetical guy? And now that guy was wealthy and sophisticated David Rose, who would never look twice at pleasantly average Patrick Brewer unless forced to by a camera crew and a bossy producer?

“I know what you’re thinking,” snapped Steve, bringing Patrick back to reality. “It’s too late to back out now. Get your ass to LA. Meet Mr. Right. Or at least Mr. Right Now. I’m counting on you to keep the yahoos from taking over the mansion.”

***

Now, stepping out of the limo into the bright lights, he wondered again what he had done. Stevie had coached him a little on what to expect from the filming— he would have to surrender his cell phone, all the contestants would be living in one house together, and he would share a room— but she wouldn’t give him any advice on what to do when he met David.

“Just be yourself,” she told him. “It’s cliche advice but in your case I actually think it’s the best I can do.”

Patrick walked towards the lights. As his eyes adjusted, he began to make out the silhouette of a man in a black suit. He tried to keep his breath slow and even, imaging his microphone picking up nervous panting.

“Hello,” said a voice.

Patrick stepped closer. He almost gasped.

Patrick had known for a while that he was attracted to men. It felt like a general thing, though. His eye would race through the players on a hockey team, or a group of friends at the bar. He hadn’t yet allowed himself to think specifically about a guy he might be attracted to, a real-life guy and not a composite of smiles and biceps and deep voices. But seeing this man here, standing in front of him, surrounded on either side by lavish flower arrangements, Patrick suddenly knew what his type was. His type, ingrained since he was a teenage video store clerk, was a little taller than him, dark hair, dark eyes, a suit that even Patrick could tell was expensive.

“I’m David,” said the man.

Patrick’s type was David Rose.

“Hi. I’m Patrick.” 

With multiple cameras circling around him, he took a step closer to David. He had imagined greeting David with the sort of handshake and half hug that he and his friends used when they met up at the bar, but seeing David standing there, holding himself with such care, Patrick realized how wrong that would be. Bro-hugging David Rose was like serving Twinkies to the Queen. Patrick stood frozen and was about to attempt some kind of bow when David held out his hand. His fingers were soft and cool, with silver rings stacked on the index and middle fingers. 

“Hello, Patrick,” he said, looking faintly amused as a blush spread from Patrick’s ears to his cheeks. “Where are you from?”

Patrick wondered how many times David had said that same line tonight. He tried to go back to the greeting he’d rehearsed in his head.

“Thank you, David,” he said, and then realized that David had not actually said “Welcome to _Mr. Right_ ,” as he had so many times in Patrick’s head. He cringed as David gave his head a slight questioning shake.

“I mean, hi, I’m Patrick.” Oh my God, what was coming out of his mouth?

“Hello, Patrick,” repeated David, a little less patiently this time. Patrick suddenly saw Stevie, dressed in black and standing just behind the camera, waving her hand in the universal signal for “Get your shit together, moron.”

“I, uh, wanted to sing a song. To introduce myself to you.”

David suddenly seemed to notice that the strap across Patrick’s chest was attached to a guitar slung over his back. Patrick reached around to adjust the guitar and looked up to see David literally recoiling in horror. His dark eyebrows knit together while his expressive mouth compressed into a tight line. Patrick took a preliminary strum, and David winced.

“I’m going to stop you there, Patrick,” he said. “The first impression has already been a bit awkward, but you seem like a decent person, so I’m going to prevent us both the discomfort of you singing at me, okay? Why don’t you go inside and get a cocktail, and we’ll try to have a second first impression a little later.”

Patrick tried to keep his face neutral, but the blush spreading down his neck surely gave away how humiliated he was. “Sure, David. See you inside,” he managed to say, and one of the junior production assistants led him down the path towards the mansion.

This, thought Patrick, was a terrible mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to DelphinaBoswell, who identified the fic where Patrick first is drawn to David as a teen clerk at Rose Video when he sees David's picture on a holiday card. It's ["The Long and Winding Road (to Your Door)"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18607708) by ambitiousbutrubbish and you should all go read it.


	2. The Meatball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if instead of blowing up his old life to move to Schitt's Creek, Patrick had signed up to be on the reality dating show Mr. Right? And what if David was that season's Mr. Right? What if Stevie was the nosy producer and Ronnie the grouchy director, and all your favorite minor character hotties were living in the suitors' mansion? Surely there would be romance and humor and longing and tenderness!  
> Chapter 2- Patrick tries to recover from his disastrous first meeting with David, aka Mr. Right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a draft complete, so I'll post the chapters every few days as I get them polished.

Patrick really needed a drink. 

His first meeting with David was a complete and total disaster. No doubt that he was going home tonight. He would be in that first wave of guys to go, the ones that the audience never learned their name and asked each other, “Who’s that? Was he even on the show?” He’d blown up his life for nothing. 

And there was a camera right in his face. “So, uh, how long have you worked for the show?” Patrick asked the cameraman, who was wearing a black t shirt and cargo pants like pretty much everyone else behind the scenes. 

There was a long pause. “I’m not allowed to talk to you,” said the guy finally. “If you need something you have to ask one of the PAs.” 

Patrick’s social skills were just on fire tonight. 

Patrick found the bar and ordered a bourbon on the rocks. After a few sips, he calmed down enough to take in his surroundings. The French doors off the living room opened onto a large stone patio. Lush palms and bougainvillea and other plants Patrick couldn’t begin to name encircled the outdoor space, with little white lights woven into the branches. Various cozy nooks were piled with bright cushions, and hundreds of candles twinkled in the living room. Despite his earlier humiliation, Patrick caught his breath a little. It was really and truly the most romantic sight he had ever seen. 

A dozen or so guys milled around, drinking and talking in small groups. They were all handsome, all fit, almost all taller than Patrick and wearing suits that looked somehow more stylish than his in ways he couldn’t quite place. So, this was the competition. Or maybe his new friends. 

Another man, younger and slighter and boyishly cute, sidled up to Patrick. “Hi, I’m Ken,” he said. 

Patrick nodded and introduced himself. 

“So, what do you think of David?” asked Ken. “Are you hoping for a kiss?” 

Patrick knew how the ceremony worked—at the end of every episode, Mr. (or sometimes Ms.) Right gathered the suitors and called out the names of those who were invited to stay. They would ask that person, “May I give you a kiss?” and if the suitor wanted to ‘continue on their journey,’ which they always did, they said yes. Usually it was a chaste kiss on the cheek, but some of the more notorious suitors sometimes tried to make a moment for themselves by getting handsy during the so-called Final Kiss Ceremony. 

“I’m not sure about my chances,” admitted Patrick. “I was a pretty big disaster getting out of the limo.” 

Ken smiled. “Hey, that just makes you more memorable. You’re really cute—I bet you get a kiss.” 

Patrick’s nerves settled to hear this. Even if he got sent home tonight, another man told him he was cute, which was at least a step in the right direction. 

“See you later, Patrick. I’m going to try and get some one-on-one time with David.” 

After Ken wandered off, Patrick again felt awkward and alone. The bourbon was going straight to his head, and he remembered he had been too nervous to eat all day. There were food smells coming from the nearby kitchen, and Patrick ventured in to find some trays of surprisingly non-Hollywood appetizers, like chicken wings and cocktail meatballs. The kitchen also appeared to be camera-free. Patrick ate some cheese and crackers, suddenly realizing how hungry he was. He began to fix a plate of snacks, being very careful not to get any dip on his tie. 

He was only a few bites in when he heard, “Damn it, Brewer!” Stevie was hissing at him from the doorway. 

He shrugged his shoulders questioningly, and she darted into the kitchen. 

Stevie grabbed him by the shoulders and glared at him. “Listen to me. Is David in here?” 

Patrick looked around for a split second in case this was a trick question. 

“No?” he finally answered. 

“Are you fulfilling your only objective of getting face time with David, so you don’t get sent home on the very first night?” 

“No?” he repeated, feeling foolish again. 

“Do you know what we call the guy who hides out in the kitchen eating snacks while everyone else is out there stabbing each other in the back to get ten seconds with Mr. Right?” 

Patrick just shook his head this time. 

“The Meatball. Don’t be the Meatball, Brewer. I fought for you to be here, even when Ronnie said that business majors in mid-range denim don’t make good tv, and that dad bods are very 2018. So, put down that pig-in-a-blanket, and go find David, and God help you, do something that will make him want to kiss you after that fiasco of an entrance.” As she spoke, she ripped Patrick’s plate out of his hands, dapped his mouth with a napkin, and pushed him out into the living room. 

Pushed him directly into David, in fact. 

David stumbled and almost fell. Patrick grabbed him around the waist to steady him. David grabbed Patrick’s shoulders to regain his balance. And there they were, facing each other, holding each other, like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

Up close, Patrick could see how dark David’s eyes were, but how they reflected the candlelight to look almost gold. He could feel how David’s long, elegant fingers with their silver rings pressed into his tense shoulders, and he could smell David’s expensive cologne. Words that Patrick didn’t even realize he knew floated through his brain like beautiful bubbles. Bergamot. Juniper. Herbaceous. 

“Hi, I’m Patrick.” Was this literally the only sentence he knew? Patrick expected David to cringe and step away, but instead he felt David grip his shoulders even more firmly. 

“Hi, Patrick,” he murmured. Patrick watched as David’s wide, beautiful mouth slowly spread into a crooked half smile. It might have been the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. 

They looked at each other for another moment, until Patrick felt he had to say something. Something besides, “Hi, I’m Patrick,” that is. “So, um, I guess this is my chance for a second first impression.” 

“A rare opportunity,” said David. 

Patrick smiled at David’s softly teasing tone. “I take it you’re not a music fan?” 

“It’s not that, I just don’t really appreciate people guitaring at me? It’s like, being the object of their intense focus and trying to react appropriately is very stressful.” David finally released Patrick’s shoulders and took a step back. “I apologize if that seemed rude back there. This whole set-up is quite unnatural.” 

Patrick was...charmed. That was the only way to describe it. Stepping out of the limo outside, he had been stunned and intimidated by David’s handsomeness. Now, standing so closely, and actually talking to each other, Patrick was captivated. David’s face was so expressive, his mouth moving from a grimace to smile while his hands poked at Patrick’s shoulders for emphasis, then moved to fluttering descriptively about “this whole set up.” Patrick wanted to keep him talking for as long as possible. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Patrick. “Maybe it’s all kind of like summer camp? If there had been booze, and if we all wore suits back when we were ten. And instead of Capture the Flag it was Capture Mr. Right.” 

David tilted his head to the side, more curious than anything else. “I think we went to different summer camps. But I like the sound of yours. Did yours have smores?” 

“Of course. What’s camp without smores? Not at yours?” 

“I never stayed long enough to find out. I usually got so homesick by the second night that I would fake having poison ivy and call Adelina to come get me.” 

“How do you fake poison ivy?” asked Patrick. He also wondered who Adelina was, but that could come later. 

“Well, you don’t fake it so much as get it on purpose. It was very unpleasant.” David seemed to take in Patrick’s horrified amusement and gave him a tiny, private smile. 

“Hey, David,” said a bored voice. Patrick looked behind him to see a tall, artsy guy heading towards them. “I’m gonna take him now,” said the new guy to Patrick without even looking at him. 

“Hi, I’m Patrick,” said Patrick. Clearly this was the only thing he knew how to say this evening. At least now he had a catch phrase. 

“Sebastien,” said the tall guy, still not looking at him. He put his hand on the small of David’s back and began to steer him off to a love seat surrounded by candles. David glanced back at Sebastien’s hand, looking flustered and a little uneasy, but he let himself be led away. 

Seeing Sebastien possessively push David across the room made Patrick’s teeth clench. On the one hand, the two men looked good together. They were a match in their height and amazing hair and fashionable clothes. But Patrick also noticed that Sebastien’s style was very different from David’s. Sebastien’s hair was carefully tousled to look like he’d just gotten up, or more accurately just come down from a three-day coke bender with a bunch of hot underwear models. His jeans were a little too short, and his ironic t-shirt had just the right amount of fraying around the hem. His whole look was built around a rehearsed carelessness, a refusal to acknowledge how calculated his perfectly distressed clothes really were. 

David, on the other hand. Patrick replayed how David just fit against him, his prickly exterior cracking slightly as they stood in each other's arms. David was perfectly put together, from his sculpted hair to his beautifully tailored suit and shined shoes. There was nothing ironic about his black jacket and crisp white shirt. Patrick had a realization: David cared about things. 

Patrick thought again how David looked crossing the room next to Sebastien. He looked vulnerable. Caring about things made you vulnerable, Patrick was beginning to learn. 

But now Sebastien was with David on the love seat, giving threatening glares to any suitors who got too close. 

And here Patrick was, all alone again. He really was the Meatball. 

*** 

Patrick milled around for the next hour, chatting with Ken and meeting some of the other suitors. Among the group, a few faces stood out. Miguel was an incredibly handsome veterinarian; Ted was a cheerful homecoming-king type who also seemed to be a veterinarian and wasn’t happy to see Miguel there. Ray appeared to have shaved a few years off his age to hit the 25-35 window, but he was certainly outgoing. Antonio looked like a coarser, uglier version of David. Jake was a super-chill bearded dude that Patrick could immediately tell must build furniture. Derek, the muscular dancer, said he had just finished choreographing a regional theater revival of Cabaret. 

Even while he talked about dogs with Ted, or show tunes with Derek, Patrick’s eyes followed David. After leaving Sebastien’s side, David circulated around the room all evening, nodding politely and sharing a few minutes of conversation with everyone until he was inevitably interrupted by the next suitor wanting his time. Patrick was tempted to try to get his attention again, to feel those strong hands on his shoulders, but he saw David’s smile getting tighter as the evening wore on, his eyes less reflectively golden, and he didn’t want to be yet another person David had to make small talk with. Someone else who wanted something from David. 

By the time they gathered for the first Final Kiss, Patrick was again resigned to being sent home. He’d had a moment with David, and it cemented that he could never go back to his old life. Maybe that was enough. Maybe he was now ready to meet a nice guy, a Ken that he could take to the movies. Even if he was thinking about dark hair and bergamot the whole time. 

So when David called his name, with only two slots left, Patrick was surprised by the rush of intense joy. “May I give you a kiss?” said David almost shyly, and when Patrick nodded, he brushed his soft, cool lips against Patrick’s cheek. Patrick couldn’t stop smiling. 

One name left. “Sebastien. May I give you a kiss?” 

“Anytime, David,” said Sebastien, sliding into David’s arms. He grabbed David’s face in his hands and turned the cheek kiss into a quick, hard, smashing of lips. 

Patrick felt sick. 

Maybe he was better off just being the Meatball than fighting for a spot next to David Rose.


	3. B-Roll

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick struggles to get more time with David, as well as with how much to reveal about himself to the cameras.

Patrick learned pretty quickly that being on _Mr. Right_ was mostly deeply, deeply boring.

The producers confiscated not just the suitors’ cell phones, but also any books or magazines, so they would be forced to interact with each other. Televisions, radios, or newspapers were forbidden. The air conditioning made too much background noise for the microphones, so inside the group house (Patrick couldn’t quite think of it as the “mansion” like he was supposed to) was always hot and stuffy. He couldn’t play his guitar, because then the show would have to pay for the rights to whatever song he was playing if they needed to air the footage. Patrick mostly sat out by the pool with the other guys, where the booze flowed freely, waiting for David.

Talking to Stevie almost passed for entertainment. Most days she took him aside to shoot b-roll footage. This was the part where the suitors spoke directly to the camera to give their perspectives on what was going on at the mansion, or their connection with Mr. Right. Back when he used to watch the show, Patrick never thought too hard about how those on-camera confessions were made, or who they had been talking to. It turns out they were talking to someone like Stevie, who was alternately sympathetic and, well, really annoying.

Stevie coached him through the first b-roll interview. “When I ask a question, answer with a complete sentence,” Stevie instructed. “So if I say, who do you think is the sexiest man alive, you don’t just say ‘David.’ You say ‘David is the sexiest man alive.’” Stevie caught Patrick’s eye as he was about to make a wisecrack. “Don’t try to be funny, either, or I swear I’ll Frankenbite you.”

She laughed at Patrick’s look of alarm. “You better be afraid. It means I’ll splice together a bunch of out-of-context sound bites to make it look like you’re saying, ‘I have diarrhea’ or something.”

Once the camera man gave a thumbs up, Stevie dove right in. “So, what do you think of David?”

Patrick immediately froze. What could he possibly say that didn’t sound ridiculous, or utterly pathetic? That he spoke to David for five minutes and now was terrified of never seeing him again? That he’s probably had a crush on David Rose since he was seventeen?

“David seems very nice,” Patrick finally said.

“Come on. Between you and me and Sam behind the camera, David is a lot of things but he’s not ‘very nice.’ Do you think he’s attractive?”

“Um, of course.”

“Complete sentences, Brewer! Why do you keep trying to make me regret casting you? It looked like you had a moment on the first night, when you came out of the kitchen. What was that like?”

Patrick took a deep breath. “David is very handsome,” he said stiffly. “When I bumped into him that night, he felt...really good.”

Stevie rolled her eyes. “We’re going to try this again later.”

**  
The first group date was announced: Miguel, Ted, and Ken. Along with David, they were heading to the La Brea Tar Pits, where bones and fossils of Ice Age animals were preserved in naturally occurring tar, right in downtown Los Angeles. Patrick was jealous that they got to leave the house to do something cool, but he wondered a little bit about David among the bubbling, stinking tar pits. 

The group returned late that afternoon, and Miguel and Ted stormed to their separate rooms, stony-faced and silent. The other suitors, bored and hungry for gossip, pressed Ken for details. He was filling them in on how Ted and Miguel were rival veterinarians in neighboring towns when Stevie walked in.

Ken smiled mischievously at Stevie as he kept talking. “The producers must have thought it would be fun to surprise them both by bringing on the other. Stir the pot a little.”

“You don’t want to think too much about how the sausage gets made,” Stevie retorted. “Come on, Ken. I need to pull you out for an interview. You come, too, Brewer. See how it’s done.” 

They settled into a quiet corner of the living room. “How was the date from your point of view, Ken?” Stevie asked.

“The date started out great,” said Ken warmly, looking into the camera. “The museum part was very interesting, and Ted and Miguel were both trying to show off what they know about fossils, but that was okay.”

“Then what happened?”

“Then the guide brought us over to what they called Pit 91, which is an active excavation site, so we could learn how to dig for fossils and stuff. It sounded really cool, but the pit was all gooey and bubbling and smelled like asphalt, and David seemed really tense. Miguel and Ted kept trying to set up David’s excavation tools for him, and offering to find him a fossil so he wouldn’t have to get dirty, but they were bumping into each other, and Miguel accidentally knocked Ted into the tar pit. Ted managed to hold onto the platform so just his feet went in, but it was a big mess.”

“And what were you doing during all this?”

Ken looked directly at Patrick. “I was just staying out of the way, wondering what would happen next.”

***

Patrick didn’t see David again until his first group date. Patrick, along with Antonio, Jake, Derek, and a bunch of guys he didn’t know that well went to the Santa Monica Pier. It sounded amazing, like something he might have dreamed about while shoveling snow back home. But like most activities on Mr. Right, it was a let-down. The suitors and David went on the Ferris Wheel as a group, and Patrick had to sit with silent Antonio. The ocean view was pretty, but they were stuck at the top for a long time so the camera crew could get the perfect shot of David and Jake together, and Patrick felt pretty queasy. 

Then Ronnie ordered them to walk on the beach, maybe take off their shirts and swim, but Patrick forgot sunblock and was already starting to burn from the Ferris Wheel. He spent the rest of the date hiding in the shade of the catering tent, catching glimpses of David eating ice cream with Derek, or walking along the beach with one of the other guys. 

He was pretty surprised not to get sent home that night, but David squeezed his shoulder as he softly kissed Patrick’s cheek. Afterwards, Patrick dreamed he was back at Rose Video, looking just like it did in high school. He couldn’t find his key and stood outside, pounding on the door. Finally, David opened it, dressed in a tuxedo, like his holiday card photo come to life. “I was waiting for you,” David said. Patrick woke up smiling.

***

Sebastien got the first one-on-one date. Of course, Patrick thought bitterly. Sebastien and David were whisked away to a nearby winery specializing in Pinot Noirs. First, Sebastien threw on some kind of linen jacket that was somehow wrinkled in the right way and quickly ran his fingers through his shaggy hair. “Don’t wait up, guys,” he smirked as he headed to the limo.

Patrick was restless after Sebastien left. Some of the guys were playing volleyball in the pool, so he watched for a while, but then he returned to pacing around the mansion. He could tell that the camera operator tasked with following him around was starting to get annoyed when Stevie came and grabbed him.

“Come on, you. Let’s talk.”

She led him over to the couch and sat in a chair opposite. The camera operator set up behind her. 

“So, Patrick, are you feeling a connection with David yet?”

Patrick glared at her. She was always there watching. She knew that David had barely looked at him since the first night.

Stevie tried again. “Patrick, how do you feel about David?”

Patrick was frustrated. He was lonely. He really wanted to talk to someone. So he guessed it would be Stevie.

“David is the most incredible guy I’ve ever seen,” he blurted. “And he’s smart and interesting. But I can’t seem to stop acting like an idiot when he’s around.”

Stevie nodded approvingly at this. “And what do you think about Sebastien?”

Patrick realized he needed to be careful, otherwise he was going to say a lot of things he regretted on camera.

“I don’t have a problem with Sebastien.”

“That’s a strange way to put it,” said Stevie. “Almost like _you_ think that _I_ think you have a problem with Sebastien. Who is in a dark and cozy wine cave with David as we speak.”

“Sebastien seems like someone who is really good at looking out for Sebastien,” said Patrick, and he cut himself off. “I’m going to bed.”

Patrick tried to wait up, but he fell asleep listening for the sound of Sebastien’s lazy, drawling voice.

The next Final Kiss was both too soon and an agonizing wait. Patrick spent the afternoon packing his things so he could leave with dignity when David passed him over that night. But there, among the candles and bougainvillea, David’s eyes met his. Dark brown reflecting gold. Bergamot. Juniper. A kiss on the cheek like a cool drink of water on a hot day. 

***

The next morning, it was finally his turn. 

Patrick was in the kitchen, making scrambled eggs. The fridge was well-stocked with basics, but most of the guys preferred sticking to peanut butter sandwiches and coconut water rather than cook anything. Though Patrick quickly learned that anything extra he cooked for himself quickly got eaten, usually by Antonio who seemed to lurk just off the kitchen waiting for something edible to appear.

Suddenly, Stevie was there. She was smiling.

“Back in the kitchen, Brewer? Never mind. I got you a one-on-one. They were going to send Derek, but I guess his great uncle died, and they’re letting him out of here for the day.”

“That’s great!” said Patrick. “I mean, that’s terrible! I mean…”

“Yeah, yeah, his misfortune, your gain, yadda yadda. Put on something casual but nice. Limo leaves in 20.”

Stevie rode in the limo with him, along with a camera person, to record some b-roll footage. 

“Don’t forget to answer in complete sentences,” Stevie reminded him. “And don’t swear, we have to bleep it out in post, and it’s a fucking pain.”

Patrick nodded. “Got it.” He was as nervous and excited as he’d been on the first night—even more so because now he knew how much he wanted to spend more time with David. To touch David again, to feel David’s hands on his shoulders. Of course, to kiss David, but that was such an absurd dream that Patrick pushed it aside.

“Okay, so tell me about your last boyfriend,” said Stevie.

Patrick tried to keep his face neutral. Stevie knew this from his screening interview, and it was embarrassing to go over on camera. Still, Stevie had gotten him this one-on-one date. For whatever reason, she was the only one who thought Patrick deserved a shot at gorgeous David Rose. 

“I’ve never had a boyfriend,” answered Patrick.

“Why not?”

“Because…” Patrick began, and caught himself. “I’ve never had a boyfriend because I didn’t realize it was an option until pretty recently.”

“What does that mean?”

Patrick thought for a moment, trying to put all his confused longing into words. “I’m from a small town in Manitoba. I was born there, I went to school there, when I was in college, I came home every summer to work for my dad. I got engaged to the first girl I dated, since high school. We alternated having dinner with my parents or her parents every Sunday. I just never thought...that there could be more out there for me.”

“What changed?” asked Stevie softly. 

Patrick focused on telling the story to her, not the blank camera lens. Even though it was hard, he wanted to tell the world about how he felt, to publicly put it all into words so he could never go back to Manitoba, and the bank, and Rachel. 

“I did. I changed. Or I guess I didn’t change at all, but I realized I needed something else. When you grow up in a small town, seeing the same people every day, it’s hard to let them know you’re not who they thought you were. And I didn’t want to let anyone down.” Patrick’s voice caught. “I let so many people down.”

“Who did you let down?”

“I let down my parents. My friends. My fiancée.”

“Is there anything you wish you’d said? To your parents, maybe?”

“That I’m sorry. For not being who they thought I was. For disappointing them.” A tear rolled down Patrick’s cheek. He brushed it away with the back of his hand and gave a little laugh. “And sorry to you, for not using complete sentences there.”

“Yeah, what the fuck, Brewer,” said Stevie gently, handing him a wrinkled tissue. “We’re here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! More romance coming soon, I promise!


	4. A Work of Art

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick finally has a one-on-one date with David, and gets to experience the world through his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains links to the various artwork mentioned. Not necessary to click, but please do if it would enhance your enjoyment of the story.

Patrick thought he’d stepped into a dream.

There was David, waiting for him in a beautiful garden overlooking the city of Los Angeles, the smoggy city spread behind him in a splendid backdrop. He stood on a ledge in front of a waterfall, which cascaded into a large pool surrounded by a maze of complicated, interlocking hedges as ornate as a sculpture. Patrick’s eyes wandered over the scenery, the fountain, the sprawling white building behind them, but kept returning to David. 

It suited David, the view and the beauty and the general aura of enchantment. He seemed more relaxed than Patrick ever remembered seeing him, in black jeans and a black top sprinkled with small white flowers that Patrick would call a sweatshirt if that word could be used to describe something exquisite.

“Hi, Patrick,” David said with a shy smile. “It’s good to see you again. We haven’t had a chance to...connect in a while. Welcome to the Getty Museum.”

They stood and stared at each other for a moment. Even after David fell into his arms on the first night, and after a handful of Final Kiss nights with lips softly brushing his cheek, Patrick still wasn’t sure if he should touch David. He remembered the way Sebastien handled David that first night, like Sebastien owned him. Something about the tension in how David held his body there on the ledge made Patrick think he was bracing himself for a hug or kiss, and the idea of touching David in a way he didn’t like made Patrick feel sick.

So he stood there, and smiled, and put his hands in his pockets to keep from touching David, and managed not to say, “Hi, I’m Patrick,” for once.

“It’s beautiful,” Patrick finally said. “The museum,” he added, when he realized he’d been staring at David’s mouth.

“It’s one of my happy places,” said David. “And we have it all to ourselves this morning. Let me show you around.”

They walked towards the main entrance. It all looked very fancy to Patrick, a mix of glass and stone perched grandly over the city, with views extending all the way to the San Gabriel Mountains.

“Richard Meier designed the building. I prefer Nishizawa as a rule, but the Getty is such a unique mix of modern design with breathtaking vistas.” David’s hands moved expressively, gesturing to the building, to the scenery, to the concept of ‘breathtaking.’ Patrick felt half a step behind. 

David pointed to the rough, white stone tiles which covered the museum’s exterior. “That’s all travertine marble, like the Roman Colosseum. Technically travertine is a type of limestone—see how it’s pitted and craggy?— but for whatever reason we call it marble. A bit pretentious if you ask me. See how the hard, linear lines of the tiles are softened by the building’s curves, and then again by the circular garden and water feature?”

And then Patrick could see it. With David next to him, the building suddenly came alive, with lines and curves working in harmony. Hundreds of artful choices in materials, design, and location came together with deceptive simplicity. The glass panes of the building reflected the city below and the blue California skies above while the rough marble walls gave everything a mellow glow. 

Just like David’s sparkling dark eyes and emphatic gestures gave warmth to his elegant clothes and careful posture. Seeing David energized like this gave Patrick a strange pang in his chest. He had to look away, suddenly concentrating very hard on the travertine tiles. 

Something new caught his attention. “Look!” said Patrick. “There are fossilized leaves, and I think maybe feathers in those tiles over there.

“You have a good eye,” observed David, giving him a sideways glance.

“Not like you,” said Patrick. “The way you described everything just now, I could suddenly see so much more. It’s like there’s a whole other dimension out there that I didn’t know about, where everything is connected in some way.” He felt a little bashful, confessing how ignorant he was, but he needed David to know how monumental this felt. “I do like to hike,” Patrick added, “And when I’m out there I try to notice as much as I can. What’s there, what’s not there, how things change with the seasons. Flowers, rocks, trees, animal tracks.”

David raised an eyebrow. “Animals? Like bears?”

Patrick smiled. “Like dangerously territorial chipmunks.”

David met his eyes for a moment with a tentative look, like he was trying to figure out if Patrick was teasing him. And if maybe he liked it.

They entered the building. Patrick was sorry to leave the magic of the garden behind, but the atrium was airy and filled with light. It was spacious enough that they didn’t feel crowded by the cameras following them. Stevie trailed behind, muttering into her headset, while Ronnie pointed out the direction for them to walk.

If you asked Patrick, he would say that of course he liked art, but the truth was he didn’t think about it much. His parents took him to the Art Gallery of Ontario a few times when they visited his aunt near Toronto. His mother liked to paint with watercolors, mostly flowers, and Patrick thought they were pretty. Sometimes, though, he saw something— a postcard reproduction of a brooding [Rembrandt self-portrait](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/2/2d/Rembrandt_-_Self-portrait%2C_1660.JPG/873px-Rembrandt_-_Self-portrait%2C_1660.JPG); a few minutes of a PBS documentary on the Bauhaus school—and he felt a deep, secret thrill. It was a feeling that the world maybe still held mysteries out there for him. The same feeling as when he passed the Rose family holiday card in the break room.

Following Ronnie’s direction, they wandered into the first gallery. It was all paintings, and Patrick tried to make sense of the grouping as his eyes took in color and pattern.

“Hey, I know that one.” He pointed to a familiar tangle of flowers.

“[Van Gogh’s Irises](http://www.getty.edu/visit/center/art.html),” said David. “A classic.”

“It’s so different actually seeing it, though,” said Patrick. “In reproductions, it always looks pretty, because, you know, flowers. But seeing it here, it’s a little bit...sinister.”

David’s eyes gave a wonderful flicker of surprise. “People say they love van Gogh, but that’s from seeing posters or postcards. The first time I went to the van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam, and I saw his painting [The Bedroom](https://www.vangoghmuseum.nl/en/collection/s0047V1962), I felt seasick. The various tricks in perspective make the whole painting unsettling in a way I never understood. I think I always used to glamorize van Gogh’s mental illness, and cutting off the ear, and all that, but seeing that picture was the first time I felt like I was truly inside his head. And I didn’t like it.” David shuddered and Patrick felt him retreat a little from their easy banter.

Patrick wanted to keep the conversation going. “It’s you. The _Irises_.”

“What?” David gave a skeptical splutter, but Patrick had his attention again.

“The one white iris in a sea of purple,” continued Patrick. “That’s you. Mr. Right surrounded by a bunch of ordinary irises. I mean guys. You’re tall and straight and off to the side and everyone else is jumbled together around you.”

David laughed, for real this time. “Not exactly straight, though.”

Patrick blushed. “Well, yeah, I meant…”

“I know exactly what you meant. But you should probably know— Ronnie’s going to edit this part out, by the way.” David gave Ronnie a small wave, and Ronnie glared back. He continued, “Despite what everyone is going to assume seeing all the people they booked for the show, I don’t identify as gay. I date women, and men, and nonbinary people, and generally anyone I find attractive. But the network wasn’t quite ready for that, so they asked me to pick a side for the show. And this felt more authentic then trying to match with a dental hygienist named Amanda.”

“I’m gay,” blurted Patrick. He’d never actually said it out loud before, but it suddenly seemed very important to tell someone. To tell David.

“Good to know,” said David, just an offhand remark that calmed Patrick’s nerves as he imagined his parents, and Rachel, watching the show in a few months and realizing that Patrick had kept so many secrets from them. “Ronnie, I’ll get back on book now!” David turned to Patrick and lightly touched his elbow. “We should probably keep going. They want us to walk through a few more galleries, and then there’s going to be a cheese tasting back out in the Central Garden.”

Patrick followed as David strolled towards the next gallery. Before they exited, David turned around for one last look at _Irises_.”

David hesitated for a moment before saying, “You said that when you hike, you try to notice things. And you do. Notice things.”

Patrick looked up at David, whose expressive eyebrows and mouth were momentarily still. 

“I notice you,” said Patrick.

“Oh,” said David, with a small, pleased exhale. He gave Patrick half a crooked smile and led them into the next room.

This gallery was smaller and more intimate. It took Patrick a moment to realize that most of the art was small pencil sketches that needed close observation. He and David slowly circled the room, pointing out some of the standouts: a remarkably beautiful da Vinci sketch of the baby Jesus with a lamb, another unsettling van Gogh. 

Halfway around the room, David froze in front of a pastel sketch of a little girl in a blue cape. “Oh my God,” he muttered.

Patrick looked at the title.[ Portrait of Maria Frederike van Reede-Athlone at Seven Years of Age](http://www.getty.edu/art/collection/objects/714/jean-etienne-liotard-portrait-of-maria-frederike-van-reede-athlone-at-seven-years-of-age-swiss-1755-1756/). To him it looked like a simple portrait of a child on warm brown paper, but David just stood there rigidly.

“Are you okay?” asked Patrick. Both of David’s hands were pressed against his mouth, and Patrick had the sudden terrible feeling that David might be about to cry.

“It’s just…” started David before he gasped horribly, like he couldn’t get enough air. “Oh, God, not now.”

Patrick felt the camera operators moving in closer at the promise of drama, like sharks circling blood in the water.

“David?” he asked one more time, and David looked at him, pale and stricken, sweat beading on his normally cool forehead.

Patrick gave a pleading glance to Ronnie, but she was too busy gesturing to the cameras to zoom in. David covered his face with his hands. “Can we get a minute here?” Patrick called out, but no one was listening.

Patrick recalled Stevie’s b-roll coaching and knew what he had to do.

“Fuck!” yelled Patrick. He winced. He didn’t use that word much. Especially not on camera. He yelled it again for good measure. “Fuck!” David peeked through his fingers in surprise. He saw Stevie in the background giving him an alarmed look, but Ronnie was gesturing at the cameras to keep going.

“I have diarrhea!” Patrick shouted. Stevie could have her Frankenbite if that’s what it took. “I’m about to poop my pants,” he continued, well, _tenderly_ , his eyes locked on David. The distraction was causing his breath to slow down, thank goodness.

David looked at him in utter shock, but Patrick wasn’t even embarrassed. He felt a rush of adrenalin.

“Can I have a washroom break please? And you’re going to want to turn my mic off for it.” Patrick could see Stevie trying desperately not to laugh, and Ronnie rolling her eyes in annoyance.

“Fine,” said Ronnie. “Let that one”— she glared at Patrick— “use the bathroom. Take ten, everyone.”

Stevie switched off his and David’s microphones. She gestured for a PA to bring David water while leading Patrick down the hall. “That was the greatest thing I’ve ever seen, Brewer,” she snickered.

“They’ll edit it out, right?” asked Patrick. “I was just trying to get them to stop for a few minutes.”

“Who knows?” said Stevie. “We haven’t had a diarrhea guy in a few seasons. Bathroom’s over there.”

Patrick gave her a hard look. “Ronnie should have stopped filming.”

Stevie met his eyes. “You’re right. She should have. But you were like Captain America out there, throwing yourself on a grenade. I knew you had it under control.”

***

Patrick was glad to have a few minutes alone to breathe and splash water on his face. He wondered if his choice of tactics was so great after all. As he stared at himself in the mirror, willing his blush to subside, he heard a tap on the door.

“Patrick? Can I come in?”

It was David.

“Sure,” said Patrick. “Do you need to...I mean, do you want me to step out?”

“No!” said David, loud enough to startle them both. And then, gently, “I wanted to check on you. And to say thanks.”

“I’m fine,” said Patrick. “I didn’t actually…” He gestured towards the toilets to avoid having to say the word again.

“I figured,” said David. “I know what you did out there. So, I thought I should tell you what happened.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to. You notice things, and you noticed something was wrong.” David folded his hands together and tugged at his shirt cuffs. “It was that picture.”

“The little girl in the blue coat?”

“Yes,” nodded David. “She reminded me of Alexis. My sister.”

Patrick tried to picture Alexis. He remembered a very pretty young woman, a few years younger than David, posing dramatically for the family holiday card. Where David was reserved, she was playful, provocatively staring into the camera. Nothing like the sweet, solemn girl in the sketch.

“Alexis is...a little wild. She’s been traveling the world on her own since she was a teenager, and sometimes she gets into these crazy situations. And she relies on me to get her out, though she would never admit it.”

Patrick kept himself very still, like he was watching a wary deer in the woods. He waited for David to say more.

“She takes so many risks, and she drives me crazy, but when she was six or so, she looked just like the girl in the picture. I used to worry that she was too trusting, that she’d walk off with some stranger who promised her a lollipop. I guess I still worry about that.” The tears were coming back, and David wiped one away with his silver-ringed finger. 

“When I agreed to do the show, I told Ronnie that Alexis had to be able to reach me at any time. So they took away my phone, but Ronnie brings it to me once a day so I can check. But I still worry. I tend to get these, well, anxiety attacks sometimes. Last night I was thinking about what if she’s lost her phone and forgot my number. Or what if she’s trying to call me in New York, and I’m not there. So seeing her face today…”

David’s face looked so pained again. Patrick couldn’t stand it.

“You’re a good brother,” said Patrick softly. “A good person.” He reached to brush away another tear from David’s smooth cheek, but his eyes caught on David’s beautiful lips, like a scarf snagging on an exposed nail. As he imagined leaning in and brushing his mouth against David’s, it was like David read his thoughts. David did everything Patrick dreamed of— David’s fingers against Patrick’s cheek, David’s lips on his, soft and careful.

If David’s words brought the museum’s design to life, then David’s kiss was like Dorothy leaving Kansas and stepping out into the glorious Technicolor of Oz. Patrick had never felt anything like it. It should have felt strange— kissing someone taller, with scratchy stubble along his jawline and strong hands—but it felt just right. 

Patrick tried to pay attention to every detail. David had one silver ring on each finger today. One of the bathroom lights was flickering. But it was all too much, too good. He tilted his chin up to better reach David’s mouth, and his lips instinctively parted. Everything after that was just a blissful haze. 

Much too quickly, Patrick heard someone barging into the bathroom. He jumped back, already missing David’s lips and touch and smell.

Ronnie barged in. “I know you aren’t in here trying to steal some off-camera private time, because I have a crew out there waiting on you, and their union will have my ass if I keep them five minutes late from lunch,” she snapped. 

Patrick noticed Stevie behind her, mouthing ‘sorry.’

***

That night, at the Final Kiss ceremony, David sent Antonio and Ted home. Patrick hardly noticed. All he knew was that David Rose wanted him to stay. David Rose kissed him on the cheek. Bergamot. Juniper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all of the supportive comments! I hope you all continue to enjoy the journey!


	5. Just One of the Irises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick bonds with the other suitors. Except for Sebastien, 'cause that guy's a dick.
> 
> In the process, he learns a few things about himself.

Jake was really, really good looking.

Patrick watched him wandering unselfconsciously through the mansion, with only a towel slung low over his hips. He wondered what it was like to be tall like that, to grow a dark, luxurious beard, to forget that you were nearly naked. But then he remembered his own body, and how it fit with David’s body, and the pleasure of lifting his chin for a kiss and...ohhh. David.

The mansion was especially small and suffocating now.

Jake noticed Patrick watching him and looked pleased. “Hey, man. Have you seen my gray shirt? I think I left it by the pool, and I was going to wear it for this date with Miguel and David.”

Patrick hadn’t seen it. Jake was unperturbed. “No worries. Hey, we should hang out later, when I get back,” he said, scratching his chest hair in a way that might have been suggestive or might have just been a handsome guy with an itchy chest.

“Sure,” said Patrick, wondering exactly what he was agreeing to. It turned out that conventionally hot people are still confusing when you’re gay.

Stevie appeared, with her clipboard and headset, looking even more irritated than usual. “I need you out by the pool, Brewer. And you,” she looked at Jake, “Dressed and ready to go in ten.”

“Whatever you say,” said Jake, heading to his room, and Patrick was pretty sure he winked at her. 

Seeing Jake and Miguel leave for their date made Patrick jealous. Of course he was jealous. Jake was the sexy lumberjack of fantasies. Miguel looked like a movie star and spoke Portuguese and Spanish, and now that Ted was gone, he was much more relaxed and personable. Patrick could imagine David being attracted to either of them. Patrick certainly was.

Which meant maybe...he wasn’t just jealous of Jake and Miguel for spending time with David, but also a little jealous of David for having two hot guys fawning over him? After a short time in the mansion, in this strange, new, temporary life, Patrick already felt freer to look at the men around him with an appreciative eye. Even with the cameras, it didn’t have to be secretive, like it did back home. 

He was pleased to learn that he liked a lot of things. He liked how Derek’s arms were rippled with muscles, but he also liked Ken’s slim hips and graceful walk. He didn’t want to like Sebastien’s effortless stylishness, but he still noticed it.

But they weren’t David. Patrick barely slept last night because every time he closed his eyes, he remembered something new. Some of it was from their date—David’s pleasure in the museum, the hunger in his eyes just before he kissed Patrick. Some of it was old memories resurfacing—the year that he unpinned the holiday card from the video store bulletin board and slipped it in his backpack. The time his fingers typed “David Rose boyfriend” into Google before his brain realized what they were doing. 

So it was hard knowing that David was on a helicopter tour along the California coast with two great guys, but it was okay. Attraction and, well, love, for lack of a better word, were not the same thing. He and David had shared something real at the museum. David could have his group date. Patrick could enjoy an afternoon around the pool with Ken, Derek, and Sebastien. 

Patrick headed to the patio, where Stevie was ordering around the camera crew and the remaining suitors. “Here’s what I need,” she barked at them, “Ask each other about David. Gush about how cute he is, et cetera. Then you will spontaneously transition to talking about your families, so the audience can get to know you better and finally start telling you apart.”

Stevie herded them into the jacuzzi for a more intimate conversation, but they weren’t allowed to turn on the bubbles because the noise interfered with the microphones. Since they couldn’t wear their usual mic packs in the water, the boom operator held a mic on a pole overhead. 

“So, Derek, what do you think of David?” asked Ken with remarkable sincerity, like he wasn’t following directions. 

“He’s gorgeous,” said Derek. “Love his style. I’m just bummed I missed out on my date yesterday. And this guy here…” he gestured at Patrick, “was only too happy to swoop in. I know he looks like the only cute guy on the Mathletes team, but I think still waters run deep with this one.”

Patrick felt that familiar blush rising. He realized that the other guys might actually view him as competition for David’s attention, not the way he saw himself still, a poser who impulsively left his female fiancée to force himself into a new life in front of millions of viewers.

“Uh oh,” laughed Ken. “He’s turning red! How was that date, anyway, Patrick?” He paused for a moment before asking softly, almost wistfully, “Did you kiss him?”

Patrick tried not to give himself away with a smile. He was caught between wanting to go over every detail and have the gang weigh in on what David meant by, “You do notice things,” and keeping the small moments to himself (David slipping into the bathroom, the surprising coolness of David’s cheek against his thumb as he wiped the tear, the best kiss of his life.)

“It’s a beautiful museum,” Patrick said. 

Ken groaned, Derek splashed him, Sebastien rolled his eyes.

“And David’s great,” he added quickly. “He’s amazing. He cares so much about his family, and art, and..and cheese. And when he takes the time to really show you something, you suddenly see it in a whole new way. You see how beautiful everything is around you, and was all along, but you didn’t notice until he showed you how to look at it properly.” 

Patrick hadn’t meant to say so much. There was a moment of awkward silence as the other men looked at him sympathetically.

Finally Derek said, “You’ve got it bad,” and shook his head.

Sebastien sighed lazily. “I don’t know. It’s not like David’s an actual artist or anything. Maybe he’s got a decent eye, but he just uses his dad’s money and plays at being a gallery owner. I’ve heard his parents buy the art under fake names, anyway.”

Patrick felt a hot flash of anger and a bitter taste rising in his throat. “That’s not true,” he said automatically.

Sebastien looked at Patrick dismissively and continued, “Anyway, I don’t know what he’s going to do now that Rose Video has gone down the tubes. I’m surprised they held on as long as they did. I heard his dad is trying to pivot to hotels or something, but who knows how that’ll work. The whole family is totally nuts. His mother is a washed-up soap star who looks like a drag queen and thinks she’s Dame Judi Dench. And his dumb sister thinks she’s some kind of influencer-slash-socialite, but her reality show got cancelled after like, three episodes.”

“Then...why are you even here?” asked Derek. Patrick was grateful for the calm comment. He took a few deep breaths and tried to remember that he was on camera.

“Because David’s hot,” said Sebastien matter-of-factly. “And he knows how to do what he’s told.”

Patrick suddenly realized what bothered him so much about Sebastien’s voice. It was like he was listening to himself as he spoke, and really enjoying the sound of it. Focusing on how pathetic that was settled his rage into a dull, throbbing anger, and he was able to stay silent.

“Plus, David’s smarter than the rest of his family,” continued Sebastien. “That’s why he’s on the show, right? To build his brand? He and I have things to offer each other. I’m an actual artist. I know how that world works.”

“But…” started Ken tentatively. “But what about love?”

Sebastien gave a joyless chuckle that made Patrick grit his teeth. “You guys are hilarious.” He stepped out of the jacuzzi and grabbed a towel. “I’m going to take a nap. This place is a tomb.”

“Wow,” said Ken as they watched Sebastien walk into the house. 

“Wow,” echoed Derek. “I guess he’s not here to make friends.”

The three men shot each other sideways glances and tried not to laugh.

They sat in silence for a few minutes until Stevie called out to them, “Guys, we’re wasting good daylight here. Patrick, ask Ken about coming out to his family.”

Patrick gave Ken a panicked look, embarrassed at suddenly switching to something so personal.

Ken smiled back at him. “You’re cute. It’s okay. You can ask.”

So Patrick did. And Ken answered. “I have two dads. That meant no one ever assumed I was straight, which made things much easier. I don’t think I ever really came out, but I talked about guys I had crushes on, and everyone just knew. It would have probably been a bigger deal to come out as straight.”

Patrick tried to imagine that—growing up in a place where no one assumed anything about his sexuality. Where he had never assumed anything about himself. Where maybe he had figured things out ten years earlier, before digging himself so deeply into the wrong identity that it felt impossible to say anything. 

“What about you, Patrick?” asked Ken.

Patrick tried to be as open and forthcoming as Ken. “Let’s see, how long have we been here? Two weeks? So, I guess I came out to them two weeks and one day ago.”

“What are you talking about, man?” asked Derek. “You came out to them to go on the show?”

“I did,” said Patrick. He hated their pitying looks. Ken and Derek probably assumed his parents were cruel, or very religious, or conservative, or most likely all of the above. They surely didn’t picture mild Marcy and Clint, whose only fault was loving him too much. Turning their world upside down was the hardest thing he’d ever done.

“That must have been hard,” said Ken, laying a kind hand on Patrick’s arm. “How did they take it?”

“I’m not sure,” said Patrick. “I wrote them a letter. And then I got on a plane. And then I gave my phone to Stevie. I told them I was going on the show because I wanted to know if I could fall in love, and that I wanted to be a new person, and I didn’t really know another way to do it.”

“That’s pretty crazy,” said Derek. “No offense.”

“I think it’s brave,” said Ken, looking right at Patrick with his soft brown eyes. “It can be even harder to come out when you’re older. It’s easier just to keep up the status quo. But you went and jumped off a cliff. You took charge of your destiny.”

“No going back!” said Derek cheerfully. “At least not after the season premier.”

Patrick looked at them both. “Thank you,” he said. “You guys are the first people I’ve told about that. Outside of Stevie, but I’m not sure she counts.”

“She has ways of making you talk,” agreed Derek.

“And I know this is a crazy situation, and technically we’re fighting over the same guy, but you two are, like, my first gay bros, and it feels really good.”

They all laughed, and Derek went to grab them more beers.

Patrick felt Ken’s fingers lace through his, underneath the water, out of the camera’s sight. “I’m here if you want to talk, Patrick,” he said softly. “And not necessarily about David.”

Patrick’s life was suddenly very, very interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the continued encouragement and comments! I promise the boys will be reunited in Chapter 6.


	6. Taking a Swing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick scores some alone time with David on a group date. Ken makes a confession.

The invitation arrived the next morning, and it was addressed to all of them.

Damn.

Patrick was crestfallen to realize that everyone—Ken, Derek, Miguel, Sebastien, Jake, and him—were going on the date. His day at the Getty Museum—seeing David silhouetted against the endless view of city and mountains, kissing him in the bathroom—was starting to feel like something he imagined.

The invitation didn’t say exactly what the date’s activity was, but it contained some pretty obvious double entendres about “getting to first base” and “pitcher or catcher.” Patrick’s mood lifted at the prospect of an afternoon of baseball, whether watching or playing, away from the monotony of the mansion and near David. Patrick wasn’t sure how it would work with the seven of them, but that was for Stevie and Ronnie to figure out. This time, he would fight for his private time with Mr. Right.

Patrick spent the whole limo ride half-listening to Miguel go on about how hard it was to meet guys in his little town, and that he couldn’t believe Ted had been there, too, and it was going to be so awkward when he got home. Patrick again wondered if the whole Ted/Miguel rivalry might be a case of them both protesting too much. 

Mostly, though, he daydreamed about David—specifically what David Rose might wear for an afternoon of baseball. Patrick loved everything about baseball, and he was starting to admit to himself that he thought baseball was _sexy_. The form-fitting uniforms, the smell of the leather mitt, the players doing their weird little rituals. The image of David Rose in a Blue Jays’ jersey and tight white pants was both absurd and heart stopping. 

The limos finally pulled up in front of Dodger Stadium. David wasn’t in a baseball uniform but in a vaguely sporty outfit of long black shorts, high top sneakers, and a long-sleeved white t-shirt that appeared to have stars spray-painted on it.

“Hi, everyone!” David smiled and waved sheepishly with both hands as they all came pouring out the limos. “Good to see you all again!”

“Cut!” shouted Ronnie. “Sorry, David. The mic dropped into the shot.” She glared at the mic operator, and Patrick was glad it wasn’t him. “Everyone back inside. Let’s do this again.”

After their second exit attempt, David had just opened his mouth to say “Hi, everyone!” again when a low-flying airplane thundered overhead.

“Cut!” called Ronnie again. “And this time, David, could you take two steps back, into the light. And guys, you need to smile. Don’t forget that you’re all in love.” She chuckled dryly at that thought. 

“This is so fucking stupid,” muttered David, his smile quickly morphing into a snarl. 

Patrick bit his lip to keep from smiling. Why was he so completely charmed, even by David in a snit? Patrick’s initial impression of David, first from the Rose family holiday card and then from their first meeting, was of someone shy and a little reserved. Not aloof, but who hung back a little and waited to be approached. Over the weeks he’d seen more facets to David, and he liked them all. He mostly just liked how expressive David’s face—in fact, his entire body—were. His joys and displeasures were translated into eyebrow raises and full-body shimmies and pursed lips. Patrick couldn’t imagine ever getting tired of watching David Rose watch the world. 

Finally, on the third try, they successfully executed getting out the limos and being greeted by David. Stevie led them into the stadium, through the locker rooms (Patrick would have liked to look around more), and out onto the field. One of the PAs handed them each a Dodgers cap, which Patrick immediately put on, while noticing that David gave his a little frown and a shudder and handed it back. 

It was a childhood dream come true, to stand at home plate and look up at the stands. In his fantasy the seats were packed with cheering fans, but this was close enough. He slowly turned in a circle, taking in the view from every angle. He wanted to remember every detail to tell his dad—how green the grass was, how huge the stadium. How cute David looked with that slightly befuddled expression on his face.

Well, maybe not that last part. Not yet.

David caught his eye and came closer. “You like this, don’t you,” he said. He sounded amused but also a little longing, like maybe he was worried that Patrick was going someplace that he couldn’t follow.

“I do,” said Patrick. “I love it. Baseball is one of my happy places. Like the museum was for you.”

“Do you play it? Or mostly attend performances?”

Patrick’s heart warmed at David’s earnest interest and slightly off vocabulary.

“Both. I played in high school. And the bank where I worked has a softball team, where we play other businesses. It’s a little more exciting than it sounds. And my dad and I always went to games together.”

“That’s nice,” said David softly, and then he looked at Patrick expectantly, like he was waiting to hear more. 

Patrick imagined what David would like to hear about baseball. “It makes me think of summer,” he said. “And eating peanuts out of the shell. And filling in the scorecard to keep track of the hits and strikes and everything in nice, neat boxes. And just spending time with my dad, talking about...stuff.”

David was quiet, lulled by the sound of Patrick’s voice. Just as Patrick was about to ask if he was okay, David said, “My dad would like a son who goes to baseball games with him and talks about...stuff. Instead of a son who racks up a lot of debt buying rapidly depreciating artwork.” He looked very young and vulnerable for a moment. 

“There was a lot of stuff we didn’t talk about,” said Patrick. David tilted his head to the side and looked at him inquisitively. “Important stuff.” Patrick took a breath. David really needed to know this if they were going to get closer. “We didn’t talk about how I was attracted to guys. And how I didn’t want to be engaged to my high school girlfriend. Which is my very awkward way of saying that I don’t have a lot of experience with dating. Guys, I mean.”

Patrick caught a flicker of surprise from David, but he seemed to be trying not to show it.

“I see. Well, you are taking to it like a duck to water. Or a gay man to a house full of hot suitors. Anyway, I see Ronnie over there next to a man with a bunch of baseball sticks, and she’s waving us over.”

Patrick was grateful to David for keeping the conversation light. Ronnie was indeed waving them over. The coach of the Dodgers as well as a few players—Patrick recognized Corey Seager and pitcher Clayton Kershaw—said hello and organized them for a coaching session.

Patrick wasn’t surprised that big Jake had a killer swing, and that Ken could round the bases like the wind. He was a little surprised (and annoyed) at Sebastien in the outfield, nonchalantly catching fly balls and throwing them home with his trademark lazy grace. After a while, though, he noticed David was sitting in the dugout, observing but not joining in.

Patrick walked over. “Don’t feel like playing?”

David gave an uncomfortable frown. “I think this is one of those dates designed to unsettle me and make me vulnerable in front of the audience. I’m supposed to embarrass myself in a cringey yet endearing way. Like Bridget Jones sliding down the fire pole. Stevie and Ronnie like to alternate those with dates where I feel in my element. So, like, fly fishing and then karaoke.”

“Oh, I bet you’re not _that_ bad at karaoke,” said Patrick sympathetically. David gave him a quick, questioning look before realizing he was being teased. He gave a pleased little smile while pulling at the cuffs of his shirt.

“Hey, c’mere,” said Patrick, reaching for David’s hand and pulling him to his feet. 

“Where? Not over to where that man is throwing those balls very hard.”

Patrick kept holding David’s hand and grabbed a bat with the other. “Take a helmet,” he said. “I’m going to teach you how to hit a baseball.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” said David. “My father tried to do that, and it caused us both a great deal of sorrow.”

Patrick stepped close to David, letting their chests touch. He looked up into David’s dark eyes. He wanted to kiss him again, but he wanted something else more.

“David,” he said, “When we were at the museum, you showed me how to look at the art, and the building in a whole new way. You showed me how things were working together, sometimes in contrast and sometimes in harmony, and how beautiful it was.”

David’s eyes softened. 

“It’s not the same,” continued Patrick. “I mean, it seems kind of stupid in comparison. But I want to teach you how to hit a baseball.” David’s eyebrows raised skeptically, but Patrick kept going. “Like I said before, baseball is a happy place for me. And maybe I could share a little of that with you. It’s an amazing feeling, standing there, facing the pitcher, holding your bat in your hand, each sizing each other up, trying to figure out what he’s doing with his ball…”

As David’s eyebrows rose higher and higher and his lips parted slightly, Patrick suddenly realized how all of this sounded. He started to blush like he’d never blushed before, the blotchy redness even going down his arms. But David actually looked interested, so he kept going.

“So you and the pitcher are fighting for dominance. And you’re there, holding your bat firmly, but not uncomfortably tight. Holding it how it feels good. And when the ball gets close to your face, you just give it everything you’ve got. When it touches your hard bat, you feel it through your whole body, like an electric charge.” 

David was following every word raptly, and Patrick was getting more than a little turned on with his dirty baseball metaphors. He and David stood still, staring at each other for a moment, Patrick trying to look very serious, until David smiled. And Patrick smiled. And they both started to laugh. 

“When it touches your hard bat…” giggled David. “I’ve never found baseball more interesting. Okay, Patrick. You have my attention. Show me how to hit that thing.”

They walked out of the dugout holding hands while Patrick pretended not to notice the questioning looks from the other suitors, and the additional cameras zooming in on them. Patrick started off giving directions—“Grip with your fingers, not your palm”—until they started laughing again, and he wrapped his arms around David from behind to guide his hands into position. David’s body felt wonderful, his arms hard with muscles under his shirt, his belly just a little soft when Patrick grazed it while lining up David’s hips with home plate. 

“I think you’re ready,” said Patrick. “But first, I’m going to tell you the secret of baseball.” He pulled David just a little closer and whispered in his ear, wondering if the microphones would pick it up, “Keep your eye on the ball.”

“That’s it?” asked David with disgust. “That’s all a person has to do to play this stupid game?”

In response Patrick nuzzled in more. “Keep. Your eye. On the ball,” he whispered, imagining he was saying, “Take off your pants and touch yourself.”

He took a few steps back and nodded to the pitcher, who threw a slow and easy pitch right over home plate. “Come on, David!” cheered Patrick, and he heard that sweet, magic sound—the bat cracking against the ball as David hit a fly over the pitcher’s head into left field. 

Everyone cheered, but David ran into Patrick’s arms. Not just ran into his arms, but kissed him, hard, in front of everyone.

“That was incredible,” he said. “I think I get it, now, why you like this. I feel very alive.”

He leaned down and kissed Patrick again, not as bruisingly hard, but with thrilling authority. This was a new facet on the many sides of David, happy and confident and smiling into his kisses like a man who knew what he wanted, and what he wanted, for whatever reason, was Patrick Brewer.

They smiled and kissed and kissed and smiled until suddenly they weren’t smiling. Patrick was breathing hard, and his hands itched to explore David’s body, to slide under his shirt and seek out that tender bit of belly again, or to trace a thumb over his pretty, pretty lips. Finally, Patrick took a step back. It was either that or push David onto the ground by home plate, cover his body with Patrick’s own, and start rutting. David looked dazed, his eyes dark with desire. For Patrick. 

Ronnie called to them. “You boys finished over there? We’re losing daylight, and I still need to shoot David trying to catch a few.” Patrick was also pretty sure that she whispered a disbelieving “Him?” to Stevie, but he didn’t even care.

The other guys were watching them, of course. Jake looked ready to join in. Ken looked a little sad. And Sebastien looked like he would happily whack Patrick across the knees with his bat.

Stevie walked Patrick back inside to shoot some more b-roll footage. Patrick couldn’t help strutting a little bit next to her. “You know what they call that, Stevie? A perfect, easy pitch right over the plate? A meatball. A big juicy meatball. So maybe I am a meatball. A meatball that gets the guy.”

“You’re mixing up your metaphors there, Brewer,” said Stevie, but she glanced at him sideways and gave him a quick thumbs up.

**  
Patrick was trying to combine his two suits and four ties in a new and exciting way for the Final Kiss when Ken came into his room.

“You look nice,” said Ken. He fiddled with Patrick’s comb and sunblock on the bureau before sitting down gracefully on the bed. “You and David really connected today.” 

Patrick looked down, pretending to be very interested in tying his dark blue tie to keep from smiling like an infatuated teenager. “I guess so. But maybe you’ll get a chance to talk to him tonight, before the…”

“I’ve come to realize that David and I aren’t a match,” interrupted Ken. “Because I can’t stop thinking about this other guy. He’s really thoughtful and genuine, and he has no idea how cute he is.”

Patrick's stomach clenched. He hadn’t expected this, though maybe he should have. He forced himself to meet Ken’s gaze.

“It’s you, Patrick. I think you’re _my_ Mr. Right.” Ken looked at him pleadingly.

Patrick looked back sorrowfully. Ken was so caring and handsome, and so brave to show up and ask for what he wanted. He thought longingly for a moment of how easy it would be to feel the same way. Ken would be a nice boyfriend, an easy boyfriend. He was kind and uncomplicated, but he didn’t have dark eyes that looked gold by candlelight. He didn’t turn Patrick’s world upside down. Patrick didn’t need him the way he already needed David, and the way he hoped David needed him.

“I’m sorry, Ken,” was all he could say.

“No, it’s okay. It really is. I thought so, but I had to try. I know you’re falling in love with David. I can see the way you look at him,” sighed Ken. 

Patrick’s brain sputtered at the word “love,” but he didn’t say anything. 

Ken stood up. “I hope it works out for you, Patrick. But...be careful.”

“Careful of what?”

“Of this,” he gestured around the room to the cameraman, to the date invitations taped to Patrick’s mirror, out the window to the set decorators lighting candles and arranging flowers on the patio. “Don’t forget that you’re on a tv show. And so is David.” He gave Patrick one last sad smile and walked out.

An hour later, the six of them stood in a semicircle for the Final Kiss ceremony. As usual, they were surrounded by candles and flowers and fairy lights. But for the first time, Patrick was disconcertingly aware of the additional drama taking place just beyond the perimeter of the cameras—the crew members muttering into their headsets, the trucks moving around food and flowers and equipment. At least a hundred people bustled around to create the romantic scene he was standing in.

The ceremony began. Jake was sent home. And not surprisingly to Patrick, Ken declined David’s invitation to stay. “My journey ends here. I wish you all the best, and I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

Patrick tried not swoon when David moved in to kiss his cheek. Bergamot. Juniper. “Of course I’ll stay,” he whispered. And his heart skipped a beat as David surreptitiously slipped something into his jacket pocket. A note.

It was torturous, waiting to read the note. While David walked Ken to his departing limo, Stevie insisted on interviewing Sebastien, Miguel, and Patrick about Ken’s departure. Then they had to film the four of them drinking a champagne toast, but one of the PAs broke a glass, and it took forever to clean up. Finally, Patrick was able to hide in a small alcove for a few minutes.

David’s note was folded small and written in his tidy, angular handwriting. It read: “ _Patrick- can I see you tonight? No cameras? I hope you will meet me in the Rose Garden gazebo at midnight. Maybe we can talk more about baseball. D._ ”

Patrick’s heart thudded. David wanted him. Not just as an on-camera suitor, but to spend time with, just the two of them. He might want to talk, or kiss, or...have sex. Patrick took a deep breath and set his jaw. Whatever David wanted, whatever David wanted of _him_ , he could have, and more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I've been enjoying the comments so much!


	7. Bergamot. Juniper.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On his way to the secret meeting with David, Patrick has a confrontation with Sebastien. Patrick and David have a romantic rendez-vous, until Patrick wants to talk.

“Ready for me to take that off?” 

The PA was gesturing to Patrick’s mic pack, but all Patrick could think about was hearing those same words from David very soon.

“Yeah, sure.” He gave an awkward yawn and stretch. “I’m about ready to turn in.”

Patrick had the room to himself now that most of the guys were gone. He changed out of his suit into jeans and a blue henley shirt, then into a white button down, then back into the henley. He brushed his teeth. He looked in the mirror. He combed his hair. He turned sideways and sucked in his gut, and then abruptly panicked that there was a hidden camera somewhere. 

Finally, it was almost midnight. Patrick slipped out through the kitchen, in case any of the guys were still out by the pool. He was surprised to find Sebastien just outside the door, vaping and scrolling through a phone. Sebastien glanced up, any surprise in seeing Patrick there quickly covered by his usual boredom.

“You have a phone,” said Patrick, stating the obvious.

“Of course I have a phone,” said Sebastien. “I gave them a phone, not all my phones. But I’m sure a Boy Scout like you wouldn’t know about that.”

“I’m not going to tell,” said Patrick and immediately hated himself for acting like a suck up. Fortunately, Sebastien didn’t think that was worth a response. He studied Patrick for another beat.

“Thought you’d be in bed by now. But here you are, looking freshly scrubbed and ready to go.” He looked Patrick up and down unenthusiastically. “Don’t tell me you have a secret date with David.”

Patrick knew he should have denied it, should have made some excuse, gone back inside, and left through the other door. But he’d had enough of Sebastien’s smug face and dismissive looks. He thought again of how David looked so worried when Sebastien touched him on the first night, and he couldn’t stop himself.

Patrick crossed his arms. “Worried about a little competition?”

Sebastien shook his head in disbelief. “Competition? From you?” He took a step closer to Patrick, and held Patrick’s face in his hands. He was tall, even taller than David, and smelled of sickly sweet vape smoke. Patrick thought for a strange moment that Sebastien was going to kiss him, but he just gripped Patrick’s face tightly and stared at him pityingly.

“Where did they get you from, huh? They needed a last-minute virgin farm boy and spotted you buying dungarees at JC Penney?” 

Patrick tried to stare back challengingly. “Yeah, where did they get you from? Open call at a rave for wannabe hipsters?” Not his best work, but Sebastien let go of his face and laughed his ugly little laugh. 

“You think I _auditioned_ for this fucking show?” said Sebastien. His voice was falsely friendly now, which Patrick found even more chilling. “Let me save you from total humiliation on national tv. David’s mom came to me and begged me to do it. David’s picking me in the end. Everybody knows it. I mean, except David, but he’s being steered in the right direction.”

Patrick felt a bad taste rising in his throat. “I don’t believe you.”

“Whatever,” said Sebastien. “You can ask that girl Stevie. She’s supposed to make sure I get lots of one-on-one time with David. Though she kind of sucks at her job.”

Patrick shook his head. “No,” he said, more for himself than for Sebastien.

“Come on, my guy,” said Sebastien. “Look at the big picture. The Roses are broke. The video chain went bankrupt, like anyone with any sense knew it would years ago. All the money David gets from the show is going to pay off all the money he owes on that disaster of an art gallery and keep the creditors at arm's length. I met Moira Rose at a photo shoot, and she told me how they needed someone well-connected and influential to hook up with David. They need him as part of a power couple to be the face for Johnny’s new boutique hotels. I mean, I have almost 200,000 Instagram followers. So, if David follows you around like a puppy dog and thinks you look cute holding a baseball bat, just know that it doesn’t mean a damn thing in the real world.”

Patrick was panting with anger. “And you’re doing this out of the goodness of your heart?”

“Grow up. I get some nice vacations and PR, and then we split up in six months. And fucking David isn’t exactly a hardship, either.”

“You’re an asshole,” snapped Patrick and walked away, before he could do something he really regretted. Like punch Sebastien in his condescending face. He kept walking until he realized his legs were taking him down the garden path, to the gate between the suitors’ mansion and the Mr. Right house. He kept walking. Sebastien was a creep and a liar. David gave Patrick a note. David wanted to see him. Maybe there had been some kind of plan to end up with Sebastien, but Patrick made David smile. David kissed him in front of everyone. Sebastian was a creep and a liar. David wanted to see him. 

He kept walking.

Patrick knew he wasn’t the handsomest guy, or the most sophisticated. He and David were so different. But Patrick knew what it was like to feel lonely, and to have a hard time trusting people, and he knew David did, too. Patrick’s footsteps got quicker and surer as he passed through the gate, across the lawn, and towards the white gazebo. 

David was inside the gazebo, looking out for Patrick, lit by the moonlight and framed by the pink roses climbing the gazebo’s ornate gingerbread woodwork. 

Patrick broke into a run and crashed into David’s arms. David wrapped him into a hug and held him tight. Patrick’s arms around David’s waist, David’s arms around Patrick’s shoulders, just like the first night when they fit together so unexpectedly perfectly outside the kitchen. 

“You came,” said David. “It felt very middle school, passing you a note like that.”

“Of course I came,” said Patrick. He lay his cheek against David’s neck, taking a moment to enjoy his height, the slight scratchiness of his jawline, his smell. Bergamot. Juniper. 

“It’s so good to see you, David. Alone.” Patrick stroked one hand up David’s back, behind his neck, and pulled him in for a deep, sweet, leisurely kiss. It was the kind of kiss he’d been daydreaming about, with no cameras, no Ronnie shouting directions, no Sebastien lurking in the background. 

Sebastien. Patrick flashed back to Sebastien’s cruel laugh, his pitying look. And then he pushed that image very deep down inside, because David was opening into the kiss, his tongue very delicately flicking Patrick’s. Patrick groaned and pulled David closer. Standing there, in the ornate gazebo, was both perfect and maddening. He wanted to explore David slowly with his mouth and his hands, to see what made him moan the way Patrick was moaning. He also wanted to tumble to the ground, to lay on top of David and press his whole weight into David’s body, to see if David could take him and all his forceful neediness. He wanted to touch David everywhere, his hair, under his beautiful clothes, in the bend of his elbow.

When he had let himself, the old Patrick had wondered what it would feel like to touch and kiss another man. He worried that if the moment ever came, he would feel as awkward as he did with Rachel or any of the other women. He hoped it wouldn’t feel like such an effort, where he would keep having to remind himself to touch her breast or say it felt good, and then wonder if he was doing it right. 

It turns out, he shouldn’t have worried. Kissing David felt hot and amazing, but it also made Patrick feel like a whole different person. He was confident and in charge. He was...maybe a little sexy? With a start, Patrick realized he had done it. He had actually become the person he dreamed of being when he signed up for Mr. Right. 

David must have felt him startle. “Everything okay?” he asked.

“Absolutely perfect,” said Patrick, and he steered David over towards the bench inside the gazebo, sitting down and guiding David into his lap. 

David giggled. “I’m too heavy!” Patrick loved that rare flash of uninhibited joy breaking through David’s carefully guarded exterior.

“You’re perfect,” said Patrick. It was true. David’s weight in his lap was wonderful, as were his relentless kisses and wandering hands. But David was perfect, too. His eye for detail, his appreciation of the world’s hidden beauty, his love for his family, the way he let Patrick take care of him. He was perfect for Patrick. 

This was probably what love felt like.

Love. There was that word again. 

“I’d invite you inside,” whispered David, “But I’m pretty sure there are hidden microphones around the house.” He did a wonderful shimmy in Patrick’s lap and wrapped his arms back around Patrick’s shoulders, where they belonged.

“I’m fine right here,” said Patrick.

“I’d say you are,” said David, slowly rocking his ass against Patrick again. Patrick crashed his mouth into David’s and felt it smirking. He focused on kissing the smirk away, until David made an incredible growling noise in the back of his throat. 

David slid off Patrick’s lap onto his knees. He rubbed his hands down Patrick’s tense thighs and briefly rested his hot mouth on the front of Patrick’s jeans. 

“Let me do this,” sighed David. “I’ve been thinking about this. Making you feel good.”

Patrick’s breath caught. He looked down at David, whose eyes were so dark and intense, and imagined that beautiful, hot mouth all around him. 

He heard Sebastien’s voice. “ _And fucking David isn’t exactly a hardship, either._ ”

Had David met Sebastien here, and knelt down before him like this? Was Patrick using David to get off, and to feel better about himself? Was he as big of a creep as Sebastien? He felt dizzy and nauseated.

“David, can we talk for a minute first?”

The spell was broken. David’s face transformed from open and lustful to guarded and nervous. His hands flew up nervously to fix his hair, and Patrick pulled him up onto the bench beside him. 

“What is it?” asked David. His words were short and clipped. Patrick was losing him.

“First of all,” started Patrick, “I should tell you that I’ve had a crush on you since I was 17.” David looked at him in surprise, and Patrick took advantage to take David’s ringed hand in his. “I worked at a Rose Video in high school, and I would see your picture on the holiday card. I even googled you a few times and saw pictures of you at parties and stuff.”

“Oh no,” murmured David, but he looked pleased.

“It was like you lived on a different planet than me. You could wear these crazy clothes, and travel, and date whoever you wanted. But still, somehow, I felt connected to you. Like despite everything, maybe we could be friends.” Patrick stroked David’s rings with his thumb. “I want you to know where I’m coming from, even though it looks like this is happening very fast, and you know I don’t have a lot of experience.”

David’s face was changing again. His lips pursed and his eyes looked...worried, maybe. Patrick felt panic rising within him, so he kept talking to calm himself and keep from losing his nerve. 

“So, before we do more...stuff...I want to tell you...” Patrick’s heart was beating so fast now. “I want to tell you how much I care about you. I’m not using you to be on tv or get famous or figure out if I’m really gay, or any of that. And I know it sounds crazy, but I think I’m already falling in…”

“Patrick, stop.” David’s voice was gentle, but Patrick flinched like he’d been slapped. David took back his hand. “Please don’t say that.”

Patrick felt the words echoing in his ears. David’s patient voice made it even worse.

David continued. “I shouldn’t have invited you here. I really did want to spend more time with you. You’re a very nice person, and when we’re together, I don’t feel like I have to put on an act or anything. But I didn’t mean to lead you on.”

Patrick took a painful breath. It had all been there right in front of him the whole time, but he was so naive, so smitten, that he ignored the obvious signs.

“It’s Sebastien, isn’t it,” said Patrick. “You’re picking him. You’ve known all along that you’re going to pick him.”

David gave a small nod, and Patrick buried his face in his hands. “I’m so, so stupid.”

“No, you’re not…” started David, but Patrick cut him off.

“Yes, I am. You guys are from the same world. You go together.” Patrick’s anger was rising. “You can use each other!”

David’s lips compressed into a hard line. “What did he tell you?” he demanded.

“That you need money. That your mother picked Sebastien for you. That your father is planning on you to save his hotel business. That Sebastien’s planning to dump you in six months but he’s going to enjoy...fucking you first. Oh, and also, he thinks your whole family is pathetic.”

Patrick immediately regretted that last cruel sentence, but David didn’t look hurt or even surprised.

“You knew all that,” said Patrick flatly. He really was a fool. 

“Of course I do,” said David. “Contrary to popular belief, I am not credulous and stupid and easily manipulated. My mother is an actress, but not _that_ kind of actress. I know exactly what’s going on here. My family is using me. Sebastien is using me. But I’m letting them. I know exactly what I’m doing. I want to help my family, so if letting them set me up with someone like Sebastien is what they want, then it doesn’t matter to me.”

“It should matter,” said Patrick. 

David glared at him, truly angry now. “You think we’re from different planets because I grew up wearing nice clothes and going to parties. But that’s not the difference between us. You see everything in black and white, like someone’s giving out medals to for good behavior. So you can go ahead and be righteous, and look down on people who pretend they feel what they don’t. You can act like you wouldn’t do something you don’t want to do to help the people you care about. I don’t care that you’re not experienced with dating, but you’re just plain ignorant about what it means to be a good person.”

It was like David had punched him in the stomach. “I’ve hurt a lot of people to be here, David. I don’t want to hurt you, also.” Patrick stood up. He was suddenly desperate to get out of there, before he started to yell, or cry. “But I can see that I went about it all wrong. I’m sorry I didn’t realize what you were looking for.”

Patrick turned around to leave, but he paused for a moment. “Just don’t let them break you, David. The world is so beautiful through your eyes. Don’t let them take that.”

He thought he heard David give a soft gasp, like he was about to say something, but Patrick didn’t turn around. He started walking and didn’t stop until he was back in his room in the suitor’s mansion. He threw his clothes in the suitcase as quickly as he could and wheeled it behind him, down the driveway to the production trailer. The light was on. He knocked on the door, and Stevie answered.

“Did you know?” asked Patrick.

He waited for her to ask what he was talking about, to deny it, to make fun of him, to do anything but look at him sadly and nod, which is what she did.

“Why?”

“I thought David deserved better. I thought you both did.”

Patrick put a hand on his suitcase. “I’m leaving,” he said. “Right now.”

“Are you sure?” Stevie automatically asked, but she was already reaching for her keys. The Teamsters and limo drivers were off the clock for the day, so Stevie drove him to the hotel for rejected suitors in her Honda Civic. 

They were silent in the car. Neither spoke until they faced each other in the hotel lobby. 

“I’m sorry, Patrick,” said Stevie, awkwardly patting his arm before she turned to leave. 

Patrick made it all the way to his room before he started to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look. I'm sorry. It hurts me, too.
> 
> Please trust me to safely guide us to the happy ending that we all (including Patrick and David!) deserve.


	8. Sing at Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick retreats home to lick his wounds, but he can't stop thinking about David. He starts to rebuild his life and think about what it means to be a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, friends, let's land this plane.

The next few weeks were, as Stevie warned they would be, a deep dive into an enormous bucket of suck.

Patrick had nowhere to go but home, and Stevie told him that was for the best. “Hide out at your parents’ for a while. Eat ice cream. Watch _The Fast and the Furious_ …” she paused and gave Patrick an appraising look. “I mean _Bull Durham_ until your eyes bleed. _And stay off the internet_.”

He didn’t know why he was still listening to Stevie, but he didn’t know what else to do. And Stevie had told him, “ _I thought David deserved better_.”

“Look,” she said as she drove him to LAX, “Sebastien is an utter shit. But David has all the facts in front of him. If David doesn’t think David is worth saving, there’s not anything you or I can do. Because God knows I tried. So, let me at least take care of things for you. I’ll be your shield from Ronnie and the network and _Good Morning America_.”

“ _Good Morning America_?”

“Or TMZ, or whatever. Deactivate your Facebook, don’t think any reporters are your friends. And Patrick? Stop blaming yourself.”

Patrick rubbed his eyes. He hadn’t slept much. “I should have known,” he said. “I should have figured out that David would never pick me.”

“We both know that’s a load of crap. But I don’t just mean everything that happened on the show. Stop blaming yourself for not coming out sooner, or not telling your parents in whatever you think would have been the right way. Let yourself be happy. Not that I’m the expert, but I think you are one of those rare humans with the ability to be happy, and it would be a shame for that to go to waste.”

Patrick had the sudden, painful realization that Stevie was his only friend right now. “Do you think David knows how to be happy?” he asked.

Stevie shook her head. “Not right now. But maybe someday.”

***

Patrick’s father picked him up at the airport. Clint gave him a quick hug and held him at arms’ length, like he was trying to gauge exactly what Patrick needed from him. Patrick was torn between wanting to fall into his father’s arms like a little kid, and to try and continue to be the cool, sexy, comfortable-in-his-skin gay guy from the show. 

Well, guess which won out.

Clint and Marcy were so gentle with him. They fed him and sat Patrick between them on the couch as they watched _Househunters_ , and he went with Marcy to Shoprite and pushed the cart. When he was ready to talk, they were ready to listen, and they not only forgave him immediately, but insisted there was nothing to forgive.

Patrick gave them the barest sketch of David: a guy he liked, rich and sophisticated but nice, thought Patrick was cute, and Patrick read too much into the situation. Even with these few words, they knew what it meant. Marcy got a cheesecake out of the avocado green fridge and set it on the kitchen table with three forks. 

“Just like on _The Golden Girls_ , right?” Marcy laughed. “I always suspected you were more of a Blanche than a Rose.”

Patrick almost laughed, too. For the first time in a few days, the pain was bearable. He stuck his fork in the cheesecake.

***  
Later that week, he had a text from Ted. _Stevie gave me your number_ , it read. _I hope that’s okay. I heard a little bit of what happened. Sorry. Text me if you want to talk about anything besides Mr. Right, ok_?

To Patrick’s surprise, he did want to talk. Ted was so earnest and positive, and soon they were texting every day. Nothing more than friendship, though—Ted was handsome and sweet, but Patrick realized he needed someone with more shades and rough edges to their personality to balance his own desire for everything to be neat and orderly. Plus, Ted admitted that he was more attracted to women these days, and he may have let his business rivalry with Miguel push him into applying for the show. 

It was nice to have another friend. 

***  
Stevie stayed in touch. She got him out of the reunion show. She warned him again to stay offline as the _Mr. Right_ finale approached. 

But a few days later she emailed him a video attachment with the message: _I thought you should see this_.

Patrick was pretty sure it was a clip from Final Kiss Extravaganza, where Mr. Right faced the final two suitors and chose, maybe even proposed to, one of them. Stevie probably wanted him to be in private when he saw David tell Sebastien that he loved him and that they belonged together. She wanted to help him move on.

Patrick didn’t want to watch it. His finger hovered above the play icon. Finally, pressed it. He couldn’t help it. He wanted to see David again so much that it overpowered all his self-preservation. Maybe he would detect the slightest tremor in David’s voice, or a small crease by his eyes, that he could read as a sign that somehow, very deep down, David was thinking of him.

He wasn’t prepared for what he saw. 

The video quality was poorer than usual, like it was shot from a phone. David lay on his side in bed, on top of the covers. He was wearing a tuxedo shirt but no jacket, and his bow tie was untied. Patrick was so used to seeing David perfectly put together that it was shockingly intimate to see him like this.

He heard Stevie’s voice off-camera. “David, the Final Kiss Extravaganza is in a few days. You have a big decision ahead of you. Tell me what you like about Miguel.”

David looked tired. “Miguel is handsome and kind. He has very good table manners. He cares a lot about children and animals... _Fuck, Stevie_ , why are we doing this now? You’re just using your iPhone—what are you even going to do with this?”

“I told you, I want you to run through your responses before the real thing so you can come up with something better than ‘very good table manners.’ Let’s pretend there’s some mystery here about who you’re choosing,” said Stevie. David scowled at her, but Stevie’s voice persisted. “Tell me what you like about Sebastien.”

David was quiet for a moment. Finally, he stared directly into the camera. “I don’t like Sebastien,” he said. He looked surprised at himself, but he kept going. “Sebastien is not a nice person. I didn’t think that it mattered, but it turns out it does.”

“Why does it matter?” said Stevie’s voice.

“Because...fuck off about the complete sentences, Stevie, no one is seeing this...because maybe I’d like to be with someone who actually likes me. Someday. If such a person could exist, and I could manage not to make them hate me within a few weeks.”

“I like you,” said Stevie’s deadpan voice, “And I’ve seen you make some very foolish choices recently.”

David gave her a sad half-smile.

“So, what are you going to do?” she asked.

“I have no fucking idea,” David said.

The video cut out. 

Patrick deleted it. 

Maybe David was questioning ending up with Sebastien, but Patrick wasn’t getting his hopes up again. It hurt too much.

***  
Patrick wanted to get out of the house. Just for one evening. So, when some of his old friends called and asked him to host the monthly open mic night that Patrick helped start years ago, he said yes.

When Patrick arrived at the bar, he was taken aback to see the sign:

“Open Mic Tonight- Hosted by Mr. Right’s Patrick Brewer! All proceeds to the Trevor Project.” 

Patrick realized how lucky he had been so far to avoid any publicity, and he had a moment of doubt about putting himself out there for the night. He’d insisted that all the money go to an LGBTQ nonprofit—if he could raise some money for queer kids and get some butts in the seats for his friends, at least any name recognition he had would mean something. Maybe he could actually help some people, and not just his friends.

Friends. Patrick was thinking a lot about what that meant. The open mic guys knew he was gay now, and they said they didn’t care. So, they were friends. But it bothered him that they never asked about why he hadn’t told them years ago, and they kept asking him stupid questions about the show, mostly revolving around if there were hidden cameras in the bathrooms. And they hadn’t been in touch until they needed him for the event.

It felt kind of like...they were using him. And he was letting them, for the greater good of helping gay kids. Life was complicated.

Patrick dropped his guitar and equipment backstage, and saw a text from Stevie. _Good luck tonight_ , it read. _Hope you’re wearing that blue shirt_. 

Patrick was a little puzzled by the last part—Stevie didn’t offer fashion advice. But he and Stevie texted a lot, and not always about the show now. She protected him from the reunions and the talk show circuit, and he knew she must have taken a lot of heat from the network for it. She was definitely a friend. 

Surprisingly, so was Ted. There he was now, walking into the bar looking absolutely delighted to see Patrick, but Patrick knew that Ted looked delighted about most things. Tell that to his parents, though—they were already not-so-secretly hoping for a Patrick-Ted pairing.

Thinking of his parents still twisted Patrick’s gut. The way he sent them a letter announcing he was gay and then disappeared to Los Angeles for weeks, and then reappeared silent and broken-hearted, asking for his old room back. It was unforgivable, but of course they had forgiven him. They gave him more patience and love than he ever felt he deserved. Maybe, eventually, he could deserve it.

They were also here tonight, Cliff and Marcy, wearing rainbow pride flag pins. They arrived and waved happily to Patrick and Ted, picking up their Diet Cokes at the bar before joining them at the table. 

Rachel was not in the friend category, unfortunately. _I forgive you, but I’m still trying to understand. I can’t talk yet_ , she texted him. Maybe someday.

Patrick looked around the table fondly. His friend who knew about the most humiliating, heartbreaking moment of his life and still showed up for him. His parents who truly just cared for his own happiness. He was so lucky. If only David had known this kind of love. If he’d been surrounded by people with his best interests at heart, instead of those who wanted things from him. If only. If only so many things.

When Patrick saw the tall, dark-haired man enter the bar, his rational mind told him that because he was thinking about David Rose, of course he would think that this man of similar size and coloring was David Rose. But the man stepped into the light, and Patrick’s brain caught up with his eyes. It was really David, at a small-town open mic night in a dive bar on a Wednesday. 

What. Was. Happening.

A pretty young woman barged through the door, clearly trying to catch up with David. David whispered intensely to her, and she gave him an irritated eye roll and flicked a honey-colored wave of hair in his face. Patrick smiled despite his shock. That must be Alexis.

Just when it couldn’t get any stranger, Stevie came running in, looking harried and out of breath. Once she saw David and Alexis, she started looking around the room.

Ted noticed Patrick’s frozen smile and followed his stare. “Oh my God,” Ted said. “I didn’t think he’d do it.”

“Do what?” said Marcy. “Patrick, what’s going on?”

Patrick couldn’t answer. He looked at Ted, then at David, then Stevie, then back to Ted. “What should I do?” he asked, as a mix of elation, panic, and fear battled in his stomach. Ted shrugged and gave him a supportive pat on the shoulder.

He had to look at David again. David was dressed beautifully, as always. His elegant dark blue suit with some kind of brocade pattern was so out of place that it just added to how surreal the whole situation felt. He looked like a movie star there in the dive bar, or he would have if he didn’t look so nervous, his shoulders tense and hands fluttering. As he looked closer, Patrick could see David was slightly disheveled. His hair was a little flat on one side, and his tie was askew. Patrick’s brain couldn’t put the pieces of the puzzle together. David. Here. Stevie. Messy hair. 

David finally saw Patrick. Their eyes met. Patrick tried to get up, or open his mouth, or do _something_ , but he stayed frozen in his seat. David walked over, Alexis trailing behind him with big, excited eyes. Stevie hovered in the background, avoiding eye contact.

“Hi,” said David.

“Hi,” said Patrick.

They looked at each other. Clint looked at Marcy, Marcy looked at Ted, Ted looked at...Alexis? Stevie looked at the floor. Finally, Alexis gave an exasperated sigh and stepped in front of David, offering her hand. “Hello, I am Alexis Rose, David’s sister as well as his relationship advisor. You must be Patrick.”

Patrick took her hand. She had David’s expressive hands, and height, and good looks, but also a relaxed confidence that was all her own. 

“Hi, Alexis,” said Patrick, grateful to have something to say. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“And I you,” she pronounced graciously, but then her face changed to a worried, vulnerable look. “Actually,” she whispered, “David hasn’t told me much of anything. But I saw the episode where you yelled about having diarrhea, poor thing, and David said you did it to get him a break from the cameras.”

“So I’m the diarrhea guy after all,” said Patrick, mostly to himself. 

Stevie finally looked up and gave him an apologetic shrug. “Ronnie was pretty unhappy with me for not getting any crying-in-the-limo footage of you leaving. I had to do something to keep my job.” 

Alexis raised her eyebrows impatiently. “So anyway, we were filming the Final Kiss Extravaganza, and Stevie had me there for moral support and to add some flair, and David told Miguel he was very sweet but they weren’t a match, and when he heard that Sebastien moved in to kiss David, but then David pushed him and Sebastien fell into a rosebush, and the medics had to remove the thorns from his hands and...other places. So then David grabbed me and Stevie and said we were going to the airport and getting the next flight to...I’m sorry, I have no idea where we are.”

Patrick stood up and took a step towards David. “Is that true?”

“More or less.” His eyes were soft, and his voice was gentle. It was almost unbearable. “Patrick, I was hoping we could talk.”

“You mean...here? Could we go somewhere private? Backstage?”

David nodded, and Patrick walked across the bar, letting David follow and trying not to check and see if people were staring. They had to climb up onto the stage to get to the quiet room Patrick had in mind, and he offered David a hand to pull him up.

The moment their hands touched, Patrick realized he didn’t want to let go. He wasn’t totally sure why David was there. Did David want him to come back to the show? Maybe stage some kind of confrontation with Sebastien, or invite him to make an appearance at one of the Rose hotels? Patrick suddenly felt so tired. He was done with _Mr. Right_. He didn’t want the cameras, or the mics, or Ronnie. He wanted David so much, but it was like David was behind a wall and there was so way to get to him.

They found an empty room, where Patrick had been tuning his guitar earlier. 

“So, how have you been?” asked David after an awkward silence. 

“Great,” said Patrick automatically. “Or pretty good at least. My parents have been amazing. I've been hiding out at home, trying to figure out my next step. Maybe open my own business, if I can figure out the right concept.” David nodded thoughtfully, as if he’d come just to hear about Patrick’s vague business plan. “But forget about that. It’s good to see you.” 

David pressed his fingers to his mouth and gave a little nod. “You, too,” he said.

Patrick thought about all the love and support he’d been given in the last months. He thought about his parents, and his true friends, and his open mic buddies. “I didn’t know if I’d ever have the chance to say this,” said Patrick, “but I’m sorry.”

David’s hands dropped to his sides. “ _You’re_ sorry,” he said. “What are you even saying? I took advantage of you on a network tv show. I knew I couldn’t pick you, and I knew you were falling for me, and I let it all happen, because I enjoyed every second we spent together so much. Because I wanted to pretend that I was the kind of person who does what his heart tells him to do, instead of listening to other people.”

“David,” choked Patrick. It was the only word he could remember right now.

“So, I’m the one who’s sorry,” retorted David, his voice almost angry. “Sorry that I wasn’t more honest with you. You have nothing to be sorry about.”

“No, I do,” said Patrick. “I didn’t think about things from your side. Yes, I was hurt, and angry, for a while. But then I remembered what you told me about Alexis, how much you take care of her. That’s you, David. You take care of people. You were taking care of your family. And I know you were taking care of me, too, the best way you could. You stopped me when I started to tell you some things that would really have hurt me in the long run.”

Patrick remembered how David cut him off when Patrick tried to say that he was falling in love with him. Patrick saw the beginnings of tears in David’s eyes and could tell he was remembering, too. He still wasn’t sure what all this meant, why David was apologizing to him, but he knew he loved how soft David’s face was right now.

“Sebastien and I aren’t together,” said David. “He’s not a very nice person. I didn’t think that would matter, but it turns out, it did.”

“I’m glad,” said Patrick. “That it mattered.” His heart was starting to race.

“I want to start over. The money from the show will get me out of debt. I’m going to tell my parents I can’t help them with the hotels. And I told Alexis that I need her to stay in the country for the next six months.” David gave his eyebrows an exasperated lift. “Do you know that she’s been in LA this whole time, while I’ve been so worried about her? She was recording an album or something and said she needed artistic solitude.”

“I’m glad I finally met her,” said Patrick. “But David, why are you here? _How_ are you here?”

“This bar kept tagging the show and tagging me in all the announcements about tonight. It was perhaps a bit of an overreach. I think they need a new social media director.”

Patrick smiled, knowing that the social media director was Fred the bartender. 

“I knew you’d be here.” David looked directly at Patrick, and his voice became strangely calm. “And I was hoping that you would forgive me. I think about you all the time, and I remember how it felt when I hit that home run”—Patrick didn’t correct him on that one—“How I felt so alive. That’s how I feel when we’re together. And that first time we met, I told you I didn’t want you to sing at me. But now I want that so much, Patrick. If you were singing at me, I would like it. So that’s why I’m here.”

Patrick felt something release in his chest, a tight bud of hope starting to bloom. David’s face was so painfully open, so vulnerable, Patrick was worried that even kind words would be too much right now. “Hmmm,” he said, trying to keep his face very serious. “What if I got up on stage and dedicated a song to you?”

David swallowed carefully. “That would be fine.”

Patrick felt a smile begin to play on his lips. “What if I said, ‘This one goes out to a special guy here tonight, Mr. David Rose’? And then I pointed you out in the audience?”

David’s face was frozen in a determinedly neutral expression. “I would like that very much,” he answered.

“And then,” teased Patrick, “I asked everyone in the bar to join me in singing your favorite song, ‘Teenage Dream’ by Katy Perry? The extended remix version?”

“Okay, first of all there is no so-called ‘extended remix version…’” blurted David, until he saw the look on Patrick’s face. “Oh.”

Patrick finally did what he’d wanted to do from the moment David walked into the bar: he slipped his arms around David’s waist into the particular spot where they fit so well. “I’m so glad you’re here,” he whispered, and leaned in for a softer, sweeter kiss than he ever imagined. David melted into his arms, his lips on Patrick’s lips, and Patrick was sure he felt David smiling.

EPILOGUE

“I hope you’ll continue by my side on this journey of exploring our hearts,” said Jake to Aidan R., a handsome young mixologist/tarot card reader. He was very sincere, yet he still managed to make it sound a little dirty.

“Ewww!” shrieked Alexis happily. Patrick threw popcorn at the television. Ted said, “That guy must mix a great COCK-tail, if you know what I mean.” David just shook his head and nestled in closer to Patrick on the couch.

Patrick hadn’t been sure if they would watch the next season of _Mr. Right_ , but when Jake the carpenter was announced as the fan favorite and the next pick for the show, David said that of course they had to. The viewing parties with Ted and Alexis had quickly become his favorite part of the week. 

“Oh my God, David, how many times did you kiss him?” asked Alexis. “He’s so hot in a dumb and selfish way, kind of like when Chris Pratt and I were in Dubrovnik when he was still fat.” 

“I’ve blocked it out,” said David. “But I will say only that Stevie may have been sampling that merchandise behind the scenes, if you know what I mean. Patrick, where’s my phone? I have to text Stevie and make sure she’s still coming to visit when the show finishes.”

They were in Patrick and David’s cozy little apartment in Schitt’s Creek, of all places. Ted was from there, and Alexis went to visit a few times. She was the one that told them about the general store for sale, and how cheap it was, and how much the town needed some kind of new business to raise the morale of the poor inhabitants, who were otherwise forced to go to something called the Cafe Tropicale, which made smoothies out of random kitchen scraps. 

David’s _Mr. Right_ money was almost enough to cover start-up costs. Patrick wrote a business plan and some grant applications for the Rose Apothecary. David swore that small town life was just what he wanted, in a place where people would see him every day and quickly forget he was part of the Rose family, or on a dating show, and he could blend in. As much as David ever could blend in, Patrick thought fondly.

They watched Jake work his way through the row of suitors, offering lingering kisses. David’s phone rang.

“Hi Marcy,” David said, and listened for a moment. “I totally agree, Matthew is out this week. The way he tried to tell Jake that Jaden M. wasn’t here for the right reasons really backfired on him. Oh, I know. Okay, talk to you later.” He put the phone down and put his arm around Patrick. “Your mom says hi.”

Seeing the men lined up for the Final Kiss still gave Patrick a pang. He remembered how hopeful he had been in those moments, how eager for love to find him, how desperate to become the person he wished he could be. 

Patrick finally got his fresh start. He blew up his life, stomped on the pieces, put it back together with a few of the parts upside down. He lost some friends but made new, better ones. He ripped his heart out of his body to give to another person, and they guarded it carefully and made him realize he had more love inside him than he ever knew.

“Thank you for leaving the show,” whispered David in his ear, “And for making me see how terrible it all was, so I had to come find you.”

“Thanks for coming to find me,” Patrick whispered back. “I love you.”

David squeezed his hand three times, their secret code for ‘I love you.’ It was still hard for David to say the words sometimes, but that was fine. He knew how David felt.

That night, after Ted and Alexis went home, David and Patrick got ready for bed. David was an uninhibited sleeper, and as he dozed off his body curled around Patrick’s like a baby’s fist around a finger.

“Thank you for continuing by my side on this journey of exploring our hearts,” Patrick murmured into David’s neck and inhaled deeply. Bergamot. Juniper. Home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I've been utterly delighted by all the comments and support along the way.

**Author's Note:**

> Patrick first falling for David from the Rose family holiday card is part of my head cannon thanks to a great fic I read a while back, but unfortunately I can't remember the name. If you remember it or wrote it, please let me know in the comments!  
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
